When Christmas Comes to Town
by Keefer
Summary: AU: where the boys aren't hunters. A small village pops up on the side of the road. No one knows where it came from or how it got there, but it claimed to be the embodiment of Christmas itself. But what happens when the joy of the holidays takes a turn for the worst?
1. In a small snow covered home

The night was as dark as pitch, nothing willing to emerge from the darkness; not even the moon and stars themselves had the strength to do so. The only source of light came from the nightlight plugged into the wall, a small yellow flower with a happy face painted in the centre fought against the dark with all it's might, illuminating the small room with all the power it could muster. The young girl was sleeping soundly under her pink-stripped sheets, heat emanating from her body, a small smile on her face. Snow was falling outside her window, the curtains thrown open so she could see the sun shinning on the newly lain snow the next morning the instant she woke up. The room was silent, her breathing only heard by the animals that surrounded her on the bed. Her father told her that they would protect her from the monsters under her bed and she believed it with all her heart.

She was dreaming at the moment, rolling towards her door, images of Christmas flashing behind her eyelids. Her smile dropped swiftly though, her face scrunching up as a terrible smell caught her nose. It smelled of burning meat, ash, and ginger with something that she just couldn't put her finger on. Rolling over again she stirred from her sleep, her consciousness slowly rising to the surface of her mind. Even though she was only six years old, she knew the feeling of someone watching you.

Cautiously she turned towards her door again, her back facing the light blue wall of her room. Slowly she opened on green eye, telling herself that nothing was there, that she was just imagining the feeling deep within her soul. Her eyes flew open, a faint gasp of air escaping her lungs as he saw the man kneeling beside her bed.

His face was black, not like those people from Africa that her father had told her about, but black like the sky. His eyes were white, hanging in the blackness like two orbs, pure white and taunting. He was wearing odd clothing, as if it was hundreds of years old. He looked like one of the people on her mothers books, the ones about a young girl and boy who fell in love and died together; her mother's book about Shakespeare. His clothes were also black, lined with crimson ribbon that flowed like blood. He was staring at the girl, his white eyes seeming to suck her in.

The girl was on the verge of hyperventilating, her tiny hands clutching at the frame of her bed, nearly ripping through the fabric of her sheets. The man cocked his head as if the actions of the girl confused him in some way.

"Do you know who I am?" The man finally spoke, his perfect white teething flashing in the light from the smiling flower. The light shone on half of his face, his skin shining like polished onyx. The girl made not a sound, a minuscule movement of her head showing her denial of her knowledge.

I man focused his gaze on her once again, the lack of irises making shivers run down the girls spine. "My name Zwarte Piet, but most people know me as Black Peter."

This caught the girl's attention. She had been told stories when she was young, but she never thought them to be true. The fables were about as true as Santa Claus and the Easter bunny, both which she knew with great pride that neither where real. But here he was, standing in her bedroom, as real as the nose on her face.

Her silence must have been a queue for the man to continue for he leaned in close to the girl, mere inches from her face. The smell had intensified now, the strange smell getting almost unbearable, making the girl swallow in order not to gag.

The man whispered, low enough for only the girl to hear, "You haven't been an entirely good girl have you?"

The girls heart rate escalated. How could he know that? No one knew, not even the little boy she had stolen from knew that his money was gone. A few beads of sweat burst across her forehead, her hands becoming clammy. She shifted uncomfortably under her blankets, suddenly feeling a lot colder than the air in the room.

"Haven't you?" The mans voice was threatening, cold and hard. His eyes bore into hers, daring her to lie to him.

"Yes." The word was a breath, barely heard by the girl herself but the man still rose to his feet, towering in the room, his head nearly grazing the ceiling.

"You need to come with us." That was when the girl noticed the other men standing in the room surrounding the girl's bed. They were all dressed the same as the other man, their skin just as black. They were silent, unmoving, all towering in the room, eight if she was counting right.

The man held out his hand to the girl, a white glove covering it. This time the girl reacted strongly, shaking her head so violently it threatened to fall right off. She backed herself onto the wall, trying her hardest to sink right through it.

The hand dropped, falling against the black of the mans tights. Silently one of the men from the back walked forward, a sack clutched in his hand. The original one stood in the center of the others, the one with the bag walking towards him from behind. "We could have done this easily."

The girl opened her mouth to scream, the bag falling down on her head. Screams echoed through the room, but no one heard a thing. The girl was in complete darkness, not even the faint light from the flower could penetrate through the darkness. The girl become silent as the smell hit her once again, passing out as she realized what it was.

It was the smell of burning flesh.

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Her parents found her room empty the next day, the nightlight smashed against the ground, the face ground out into dust. There were nail marks on the wall, small but deep, blood in the cracks. Her sheets were messed up, hanging off the bed as if they were kicked off in a panic.

It didn't matter how long or far they searched, she was never seen of again.

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**A/N: So this is the beginning of a Christmas story that I will be doing. I shall be posting a chapter a day starting December 1st and ending December 24th. This is just a preview to what is to come. **

**I don't own anything that I shall be writing about, but who can own a legend after all? I shall be explaining more later, so don't worry about that.**

**The song I am using for this fic is 'This Time Of the Year' by Project 86. You should really listen to it to get the best effect of this story. **


	2. On a Cold Winter Day

**A/N: This is going to be the last note for a while so I just wanted to say this; this story is still a work in progress so if you have any questions or suggestions I am more than willing to hear them. **

**This story isn't going to be a horror in the sense of 'Oh dear that's terrifying' but in the sense, 'Oh dear that's disgusting'. And it is rated M for that reason. It is going to get fairly disturbing. Fair warning to all.**

**And now, on with the tale.**

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"Just admit it Dean, you're lost."

The Impala roared down the abandoned highway, its location long lost to the warm rubber of car tires, the tar and stone tearing up creating giant potholes that Dean had to skillfully avoid every few yards. Dean's hand was going white on the steering wheel; Sam's insistent pleas that Dean was lost were really grating on his nerves.

"Just pull over Dean and we can figure out where we are." Sam was looking at him, his face begging him to listen to reason. Their mother called it his 'puppy face', something that most people couldn't say no to. Most people weren't Dean.

"Seriously Sam, if you don't shut your trap I am going to pull over and throw your ass out of this car." Dean faced his brother, his voice all work and no play.

Sam sulked, turning away from his brother and looking out the car window into the empty plane of snow before them, "We're never going to get there."

Dean twisted his hand on the steering wheel, the leather beneath his fingers creaking under the pressure. Dean kept reminding himself that it was only a few more miles, a few more miles until he could dump his lame-ass brother off at their mothers and he could go see Dad.

Their divorce had been finalized a few years back but they had been separated ever since Sam turned three. Sometimes fairy tales just don't end the way that you want them to.

John and Mary had never been perfect for each other in the first place, how they even got together no one knew. The two of them never seemed to click, as if they were two pieces of a very different puzzle someone was trying to force together. There seemed to be this magic that kept pulling them back to each other though, blinding them to each other's faults until it was too late. The magic wore away slowly year after year until it reached the inevitable breaking point.

And that point was when John came home drunk out of his mind. Mary had enough of his crap, she couldn't put up with it anymore. He had no job; he was a drunk, living his life through his memories of being a marine, saying that his life was better then, that there was nothing for him anymore. It kept piling up, stacking higher and higher until the mountain of baggage was enough to crack the earths crust.

Mary was standing at the foot of the stairs, a bag packed at her feet and Sam cradled in one arm. The toddler was sleeping on her shoulder, a small patch of drool growing on her shirt. Dean was sitting on the stairs fidgeting, knowing what was going on between his mommy and daddy. He wasn't stupid; he knew far too much, he knew things a child should never know. He heard the fights, he heard his fathers fists hit the wall, he heard the shattering plates, he saw the wreckage, he smelt the fear emanating off his mother just as strong as it was now.

Mary was practically quaking, her hands shaking so badly the ring on her left hand nearly fell off, loose due to her sudden weight loss, the stress finally getting to her. She was practically skin and bones, her once beautiful hair limp and dull, the life gone from her eyes, her face a mask of sorrow. There was nothing left of the old Mary; the man who stood unmoving in the doorway had destroyed her life.

John had grown, packing on weight in pure muscle. It didn't seem to matter what he ate or drank, he never gained an ounce of fat. He was as lean as the day he enlisted. His eyes had grown darker, colder and sharper, cutting apart and dissecting everything they gazed upon. And right now, they were tearing Mary apart.

"What's this?" His voice was soft, almost disbelieving, but Mary knew better than that.

Swallowing she took a deep breath, trying to gain the strength to say the words she practiced every night in the mirror for three years, "Good-bye John."

Taking her suitcase in hand she walked towards the door, Dean trailing behind her, unsure as to whether he should follow his mother or stay with his father. His green eyes went from one to the other, flashing back and forth, making his decision all the harder. He loved them both; he couldn't just leave one.

Dean paused in the doorway, his mother half way to the car, his father beside him. Mary turned and looked at Dean, her eyes screaming her confusion. "Come on Dean, we're leaving."

She held her hand out, the trembling causing Dean's stomach to drop. With tears in his eyes Dean shook his head, "No."

Mary gasped and John looked down at his son, both of them not understanding what was going on.

"Dean?" Mary was the first to speak, her voice breaking along with her heart.

Dean shook his head more fiercely this time, "No. I'm not leaving." For some crazy reason Dean had put it together in his head that if he stayed his mother would too. That she wouldn't abandon him with his father, that she would always protect him. She was his mother; it was her job.

So when Mary turned and got into the car, placing Sam in the back seat and drove away, Dean couldn't have been more surprised or hurt. He watched dumbly as the car went down the road, the golden shine from the trunk still shining in Dean's eyes long after it was out of view.

John put his hand on Dean's shoulder, steering him into the house, "She's gone boy."

That was the last time Dean would see his mother or his brother until fifteen years later when he crashed his brothers graduation.

"Dean we should really pull over for the night."

Dean gritted his teeth, asking himself how he got such an annoying prissy brother. "Sam. We're almost there. Now shut the fuck up."

"Dean, it's getting dark and the road's bad. Look there's a town up ahead." Sam was pointing at a little village up the road, one that Dean could swear wasn't there before.

"Fine Sam. What ever, we'll stop for the night if that's going to get you to SHUT UP!" Neither of them spoke until they reached the village.

It was a small town, seemingly untouched by time. It was picturesque, not even the snow was dirty. All the trees were covered with just enough snow to make them sparkle all different colors in the dying sunlight, rooftops glistening like diamonds. There were Christmas decorations everywhere, lights glowing under blankets of snow, ornaments hanging from windows, icicles dangling from eaves troughs. It was like walking into a postcard. At the center of the town was the biggest tree that either of the boys had ever seen and it was covered from head to toe in sparkling lights, and not a flake of snow was on it. The star on the top of the tree as the real eye catcher, standing at least four feet wide and six feet tall it was golden, a light shining from the center of it to make it seem like it was glowing, emitting its own natural light. It was simply stunning.

Dean saw none of this; his attention was fully consumed by his task of finding a motel, none of which wanted to present themselves. The only available place was the bed and breakfast that was positioned at the opposite end of the town center, a small wooden 'vacancy' hanging from the sign artfully positioned in the front lawn. The place was called 'Christmas Dreams' and Dean was sure he would spontaneously grow a vagina just by staying there, and that there would be doilies everywhere.

Dean steered the impala to the front of the building, parking her beside the sidewalk. Shutting the engine off he swung his door open, sliding out into the strangely warm air. Neither Dean nor Sam noticed this though, Sam was too distracted with the sheer beauty around him, Dean focusing on how to get out of here and away from Sam as fast as possible. Heaving the trunk up, Dean grabbed his bag, leaving it open for Sam to grab his, ignoring his brother as he walked into the cozy building.

The building itself was three stories, a candle burning brightly in each window. The walls were painted a soft blue, white trim lining the roof and sills. There was a porch circling the entire house, a swinging bench and two rocking chairs could be seen from the street, each one painted white. There was a mat at the door that had a friendly 'welcome' printed on it. When the door swung open with a cheery ring from a bell sounding out, echoing through the house. There was a smell of ginger, cinnamon and evergreen wafting through, reminding Dean that they hadn't eaten yet.

Dean stomped the snow off his shoes out of habit, shaking out his leather jacket so not to ruin it from the melting snow. He shut the door behind him, looking around at the perfect house. There was a desk placed a few feet down the hallway against the wall, it was made from a dark wood and just big enough to hold a computer and nothing more. To the right there was an entrance to a parlor, a roaring fire in the hearth and two high back chairs placed before it, and a couch sitting under a big double paned window. Each piece of furniture was covered in patterned cloth, something that would have been seen in your grandmother's house. There were pictures lining the walls, but Dean couldn't make out what they were from this distance. There was also a figurine set, a Mr. and Mrs. Claus, both of them rosy cheeked and merry. Just down the hallway was a set of stairs leading to the floor above, the top illuminated by a single bulb wall lamp. Beyond the stairs was an open doorway, which Dean could see a stove through. It was the only thing that was modern in the house, top of the line too if Dean could see it properly. That must have been where the smell was coming from.

"Welcome to Bethlehem, how may I help you tonight?" Dean looked back at the desk; an older lady was now positioned behind it, smiling warmly at him. She was about fifty years old, but she had clearly aged well, her face round but just the barest or wrinkles around her eyes and lips. She looked like she had just come from the kitchen as she had a smudge of cocoa on her cheek and flour in her hair.

Placing his bag on the floor Dean said, "I was wondering if I could book a room for the night. Two actually." He added the end when he heard the door open, Sam lumbering into the building with as much grace as a small elephant.

The woman seemed to light up as she replied, "Of course! You are our first guests of the holidays in fact, so you can have the choice of any of the rooms here." Turning to the computer her fingers flew above the keys, Dean barely able to keep up with what she was typing. Sam didn't notice as he was to busy looking around the house, his mouth unconsciously hanging open.

"Here we are, the two best rooms in the house. Now, would you boys be interested in dinner? I just put a roast in the oven and it should be ready in a few minutes."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth Dean could smell the absolutely mouth watering fragrance of the cooking meat emanating from the kitchen, his stomach growling at the smell. "Yes we would, thank you very much." Dean didn't even look at Sam, his stomach was more important that his brother after all.

The woman smiled again, her perfect teeth sparkling, "Very well then. I'll show you boys to your rooms. I'll come back when dinner is ready, give you some time to settle in first."

The woman moved from behind the desk, two sets of keys in her hand. Moving towards the stairs she took her skirt in hers hands and raised it just a bit so that she wouldn't trip going up them. Although the stairs looked like they could be at least fifty years old they made not a sound, only the heavy footsteps of the boys could be heard.

She brought them to the second floor, leading the boys down the hallway to the two rooms at the far end. Placing a key in each lock she turned them, swinging the doors open for each of the boys. "Now these two rooms are joining, there's a door in the middle that can be locked from both sides if you want. If there is anything else, don't hesitate to call."

The woman turned and started walking back down the hallway towards the stairs when Sam called out after her, "I'm sorry but what's your name?"

The woman paused, turning to face the boys again, "Elizabeth."


	3. Two Boys Came

Elizabeth continued down the hall, disappearing down the stairs. The boys watched her leave, going into their own rooms once she was gone. Each room was the same, a queen sized bed against the hallway wall, a fireplace directly before it. There would be a love seat beneath the window, depending on which way the building was facing and what room you where in. There would also be an ottoman at the foot of the bed and a side table at the head. Placed on the side table were a lamp and an old-fashioned radio, one where there were only dials and AM/FM radio. A cabinet would stand opposite the love seat with a mirror placed on top. There were adjoining bathroom to each room, placed one beside the other in between the one room and the next. Everything was classic with an antique feel about it. The edges on the furniture worn, the brass faded, the sheets slightly discolored from being in the sun just a little too long.

It was homey to say the least, welcoming in the most sense, and yet there was an unsettling feeling that would poke at your gut, like you weren't quite alone. Dean ignored it, throwing his bag onto the ottoman and flopping down face first on the bed. It was like sleeping on a cloud, it morphed to his form but didn't sink below him. It was as if the bed was made for Dean. Turning his head so he could breath Dean, using only his feet, kicked off his shoes and slung his legs on the bed. Closing his eyes, Dean took a deep breath, breathing in the smell of the kitchen and the sheets below his face.

They smelled like vanilla and spice with a faint hint of iron.

Dean didn't realize that he had fell asleep until he heard a faint knocking on his door and a hesitant, "Mr. Winchester? Dinner is ready."

Dean sat up on the bed, stretching out the arm that he had fallen asleep on. It protested against the movement, pins and needles shooting up his arm and into his shoulder. Rolling it he tried to get feeling back as he opened the door, grabbed the keys, and walked down the stairs. He didn't even realize that he had never given Elizabeth his name.

Dean lumbered down the stairs, wiping his eyes to rub the sleep out of them. Sam was already in the dinning room, which was placed behind one of the closed doors Dean had seen before. He was standing and looking at a glass cabinet that was against one of the walls, taking up most of the room on the wall. Dean ignored him, pulling out one of the seats on the classic dinning room table and ungracefully sat down, one arm resting on the table with the other on his knee. Sam ignored him too, continuing to stare at the contents of the case.

The boys didn't have to wait long for Elizabeth as she suddenly burst through the door, arms full of food. Sam and Dean both reacted at the same times, each taking a dish from her arms and placing them on the table, on hot pads of course. Both of them had been taught manners and how to act as perfect gentlemen, they may have been raised by different people, but manners ran true through any Winchester, past, present, or future.

Dinner looked delicious, a pot roast that was steaming, the vapors moving slowly towards the eager boys noses. There was a bowl full of roasted potatoes seasoned in all types of different herbs accompanied by buttered green beans and warm rolls. There was a boat of gravy, a small bowl of beets and last but not least a warm apple pie that made Dean's mouth water at the sight of it.

Elizabeth sat herself at the head of the table, each boy on either side of her. Elizabeth held one hand out to either boy, raising her eyebrow at them when they made no move to take them. Shifting uncomfortably Sam and Dean took her hands, bowing their heads in respect as she began to pray, "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation and deliver us from evil for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever and ever. Amen."

"Amen," the boys repeated after her, releasing her hands and reaching for the nearest food item. Sam and Dean piled their plates full of food, Elizabeth taking conservative amounts, just enough for her to have some thing on her plate. The boys practically inhaled the food, trying to be as polite as possible, which was very hard when you felt like you were starving.

Elizabeth just smiled as she watched the boys eat, something that could be taken easily as motherly pride.

After the boys had each finished their first plate and filling up a second one Sam asked, "So do you run this place by yourself or do you have help?"

Elizabeth put her fork down beside her plate, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin before she spoke, "No, my husband does all the hard labor. He should be back from the store soon so you should be able to meet him. He had to run to get some tar for the roof. We have a leak in one of the upper rooms and he wants to get it fixed before the holiday rush."

It must have been impeccable timing as the front door could be heard opening and a gruff worn voice calling out, "Elizabeth?"

"In here Zachariah!" Elizabeth turned towards the door to call out, a genuine smile breaking out across her face, her eyes lighting up.

A few heavy footsteps neared the door, a large frame filling the doorway. The man was about six foot but as wide as a barn door. He clearly worked outside a lot, his skin still holding the loving rays of sunshine in his golden skin. He had a salt and pepper beard, white strand of hair gracing the temples of his forehead, not a hair threatening to leave his head. His eyes were warm and kind like his wives, inviting and loving.

He walked into the room, taking a seat beside Sam. There was an extra plate that Elizabeth had brought with, apparently expecting her husband soon. He too took very large helpings of food, shoveling it down before he spoke to the boys, "So where are you boys from?"

Sam opened his mouth to speak but Dean beat him to it, "I'm from Lawrence Kansas, he's from San Pablo California."

Zachariah's eyebrows drew together in confusion, "But I thought you were brothers?"

Neither brother caught what Zachariah had truly said, Dean just plowed ahead, "We are, but are parents are sep- divorced. He went with our mother, I stayed with Dad."

"I see," Zachariah was silent for a while before he added cheerfully, "Will you boys be staying for a few days? See the town?"

"No," Dean replied hastily, seeing the expression that was crossing Sam's face, "We need to get home tomorrow. Sam has to see our mom."

"Aw come on Dean, Mom can wait." Sam looked like a kid at, well, Christmas. He was practically bouncing up and down in his seat, giddy with excitement.

"No Sam." Dean wanted to get out of this place as soon as he could. No town, no trip, no Sam. That was all he wanted this Christmas.

"Come on Dean, please?" That was when Sam hit Dean with the most powerful puppy eyes known to man. No one could resist them, not even the infamously stonehearted Dean Winchester.

Dean stared Sam down, neither one of them relenting. It was Dean who finally broke first, "Fine! We'll stay a day."

Sam practically cheered from the other side of the table, smirking as he finished his food. Zachariah smiled as he said, "You boys aren't going to regret it."

"Oh no," Elizabeth chimed in, "It's a great town. Practically perfect."


	4. Not Seeing the Pain

**A/N: Sorry guys, but these are going to be posted later in the day as I have work until the 21st. They will be posted on the proper days, but for some of you, you might get them the day after due to time differences. I will be posting them as early as possible, but I am apologizing in advance. Anyway, the show must go on!**

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Even the two slices of apple pie that Dean ate couldn't get rid of the bad taste that was lingering in his mouth. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something that put him on edge about this place.

The feeling followed him for the rest of the night, trailing him as he changed out of his clothes. Shadowed him as he brushed his teeth and washed his face. Tickling his spine as he crawled under the sheets and turned off the lamp on the side table. Watched with glowing white eyes as he slept from the corner of his room, never blinking, never missing a second.

The next morning Dean was awoken by the morning sun reflecting off the newly laid snow, shining like beacon into his room. Grumbling Dean rolled out of bed and shuffled to the window, throwing the curtains closed before flopping back into his warm bed. The curtains cut out all the light entering Dean's room, throwing him back into a comfortable darkness.

The next time Dean woke up was because of a consistent and obnoxious pounding on his door, followed by the last voice he wanted to hear that morning, "Come on Dean! It's ten o'clock! We've got to go or else we'll miss it!"

Dean rolled over, groaning as he hid his face in the pillow, wishing that it was just a bad dream. Unfortunately wishes don't come true as Sam's voice rang out again, "Dean if you don't get your ass out here I'm coming in there."

Dean's head snapped up and he yelled back, "Piss of Sam! I'll be down in five!" He threw his pillow at the door just to make an extra point.

Dean could hear Sam walking down the hallway and down the stairs, his voice calling out one last time, "Good morning sunshine!"

Dean flopped back down on the bed, muttering a faint 'fuck you'. This day was just turning out perfectly.

True to his word Dean was back downstairs dressed and clean five minutes later, running one hand through his damp hair as he walked into the dinning room. There were still left over pastries from breakfast and Dean helped himself to a scone drizzled in icing. Taking a bite Dean nearly groaned, the flavors dancing across his tongue. There was a mug of hot chocolate sitting on the table, steam rising from the top. Taking a sip Dean knew that he had never tasted anything that good before and that he never would again. He was in a moment of pure bliss, a small silver lining to an other wise drab day.

His moment was shattered though when Sam poked his head into the doorway and said, "Well you ready to go Sleeping Beauty? Or do you want to wait another hundred years?"

Placing the empty mug down, running the back of hand across his mouth to wipe off the remains to his breakfast Dean replied, "As long as you're not the prince I'm good."

Sam rolled his eyes and ducked back out of the door, heading down the hallway to the front entrance. Dean followed him, grabbing his coat from the set of hooks beside the door and sliding his feet into his boots, lacing them up good and tight so the snow wouldn't be able to crawl its way inside.

When Dean opened the door and stepped outside he felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz first stepping into Munchkin Land. There was a whole 'nother world out there, something that many people would call a 'winter wonderland'. The houses were covered with a perfect layer of snow, the edges slightly curled around the roofs. There were children playing in the front yards throwing snowballs and making snowmen. There were couples walking hand in hand, staying close together not only for warmth but also for comfort. Parents stood in doorways and watched as their children covered themselves in snow. Shops were open, wreaths were hanging on doors, mistletoe placed strategically on walkways, many a person altering their routes to avoid or intentionally walk under. All the colors were vibrant and warm, candlelight seemingly everywhere. This was Christmas.

Sam pushed past Dean, smiling as he said, "Come on, and let's see the town."

Dean followed his brother, walking in his footsteps to avoid the possibility of getting snow in his shoes. Sam's footsteps were the perfect size for Dean to walk in, his feet fitting exactly in the massive tracks his brother left behind. They walked around the town, occasionally dropping into stores just to see what was in them. They was a chocolate store that Sam was particularly fond of, buying a couple small truffles to eat as they walked around. Dean stopped at a bakery, the miniature pies in the window calling his name.

Eventually the boys were worn out, a bit of chocolate on the corner of Sam's mouth, a crumb or two on Dean's lip. They were both worn out, so much that Dean didn't find himself caring that Sam was taking his ear off. He ignored him mostly, letting his mind wander as they walked back to the bed and breakfast.

"Dean?" It was the tone of Sam's voice that made him stop, turning back to see that his younger brother had stopped and was looking around the neighbor hood.

"What Sam?" Dean put his hands in his pockets, the cold reaching through the wool of his gloves to his fingertips.

"Does anything seem, weird to you?" Sam was still looking around the town, his face confused.

Dean followed his brother's gaze, taking a good look at the surrounding area. At first glance everything seemed normal, just a small town that loved the Christmas season. Then it hit him, everything was just too perfect. The children were still outside; hours after Dean and Sam had first seen them playing and none of them seemed to be really having any fun. They were repeating the same motions, almost as if they were on a loop. Dean himself was freezing cold and he had been inside on and off during the day, he couldn't imagine what the kids were feeling.

He walked up to one of the girls who was currently throwing a snow ball at whom he assumed was her brother, her arm cocked back, ready to throw. She lowered it when Dean came over though, letting the ball drop to the ground where it broke apart into three distinct pieces.

Dean smiled at the girl, trying not to come off as the creepy stranger, "Hi there. What's your name?"

The little girl looked up at him, panic in her eyes. She quickly looked down at her feet though, avoiding eye contact, "Martha."

"Well hello Martha, my name's Dean. I was just wondering Martha, why don't you go inside? You must be freezing cold from playing outside all day?" Dean was shivering, his body almost quaking from the bitter chill.

Martha's head snapped up, her eyes wide, "No! I can't go inside. Mama told me to go play outside, so I am. I can't disobey her. Not again."

The front door of the house opened and a woman came out, Dean assumed that it was Martha's mother. Seeing Dean there she called out for her children, as any mother would do if a strange man was talking to them, "Martha, Lazarus! Come inside please!"

The girl looked at Dean one more time and said, "Goodbye Dean," before she ran into the house with her brother at her side.

Dean went back to the sidewalk, stomping the excess snow from his boots, "Okay, now that was weird."

Sam just looked at the house muttering a faint 'yeah'. Dean followed his gaze, looking at the front steps of the house. There on the first one was a small bag of what looked like ginger cookies. Dean shrugged it off, not seeing it as anything important.

"Come on Sam, let's go. I'm freezing my ass off standing out here." Dean rushed to the bed and breakfast, not really caring if his brother was following him or not. He just wanted to get the feeling back to his legs.

Neither Sam not Dean noticed that every house had that small bag of cookies sitting on their front steps, not a single person in town willing to touch them.


	5. The world changing slowly

**A/N: Once again, I must apologize. My work Christmas party went longer than expected...Sorry.**

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Dean entered the home, the heat biting at his flesh as soon as it touched him. It was painful but comforting, a subconscious reminder that he was still alive. Sam bustled in after him, shutting the door swiftly in order to keep the heat inside the building. The house smelt of vanilla and icing sugar today, Dean could see Elizabeth moving around the kitchen also, his stomach reminding him was glorious miracles that came out of there.

In Sam's hand was a bag of cookies, almost identical to the bag that they saw on Martha's steps. He walked into the kitchen, placing them down on the counter as he said, "These were on the porch steps Elizabeth. I thought someone might have dropped them off for you."

Elizabeth turned from where she was stirring something on the stove, joy lighting her eyes. That joy disappeared the moment she saw the treats though, horror taking its place. It didn't stay long though as Elizabeth smiled at Sam again saying, "Thank you Sam. That was kind of you."

She turned back to the stove, ignoring the boys as she stiffly returned to her task. Sam and Dean exchanged a look, Sam shrugging slightly. As they walked away from the kitchen they heard Zachariah enter, Elizabeth instantly whispering, "Get rid of it, please Zachariah. Get rid of it, now."

"What is it Elizabeth? What's wrong?" Zachariah sounded truly worried, concern lacing his voice. She must have shown him what she was so worried about as he muttered a faint, "I see."

"Please Zachariah, little Mary disappeared two nights ago and I can't have it sitting in my kitchen. She was such a nice little girl…" Elizabeth's voice trailed off, becoming muffled sobs.

She must have been crying into Zachariah's shirt as he tried to shush her, muttering a faint, "It'll be okay Elizabeth, I'll take care of it, you never need to see it again."

Dean didn't know what that was all about; all he knew was that it was beyond weird. He was passing the parlor on the way to the staircase when something caught the corner of his eye. He stopped, turning to the room and looked around. There was nothing out of place; everything was just as clean and precise as it was before. Dean was about to leave when he saw it, the item that caught his eye. It was the figurines of Mr. and Mrs. Claus that he hadn't really noticed before. They had moved.

Mr. Claus was no longer holding Mrs. Claus' hand lovingly; instead his hand was around her throat, a small crack reaching up her neck from where his hand gripped her. Dean slowly walked closer, his head tilting as he took in the sight. Someone walked up behind him, Dean ignoring them to continue looking at the ceramic people.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was clearly concerned, his brother was acting strangely after all, "What are you doing?"

Dean remained leaning over the figures, his face inches away from them, "They moved Sam."

"What?" Sam almost scoffed, his brother clearly crazy.

Dean stood up straight, turning to his brother and shoving him towards the dolls, "They moved Sam."

Sam's eyes widened as he saw the dolls, his jaw dropping a bit, "That's not possible."

Dean scoffed at that, crossing his arms, "You think I don't know that? But clearly they have."

Sam turned to his brother, his face a mix of emotions, "So what do we do? Ignore it or tell Elizabeth that her Christmas decorations are coming to life?"

Dean let out a harsh laugh, short and curt, "Ignore it I guess. What's she going to say?" His voice became high pitched as he imitated Elizabeth, " 'Oh that's normal dear, and they do that all the time.' No, I saw we forget it unless they start to attack us in our sleep."

Sam shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning down. He walked out of the room, Dean following him. Before he was completely out though he turned and looked at the doll on more time, making sure that it hadn't moved again.

Laughing at himself Dean shook his head, "Idiot," and left the parlor. He went up the stairs to his room, deciding to take a shower to chase the cold out of his bones.

Closing the door behind him Dean turned on the radio, listening to the Christmas station it was automatically tuned into. _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_ was playing and Dean figured he would just leave the radio alone; there was no point in him trying to find a Classic Rock Station if he was wasn't even going to hear it in the bathroom.

Turning the shower on as hot as he could make it Dean let the room steam up for a bit before he turned it down to a more natural temperature, one where he wouldn't boiling the skin off of his bones. Stepping into the water was the release that Dean needed, the last ounce of chill leaving his system. Taking twice as long as he usually would Dean enjoyed the endless supply of hot water pouring down on his head. It wasn't often that he got to enjoy something like that, something that his father deemed 'unnecessary'.

After about twenty minutes, although to Dean it felt like an hour, he stepped out of the shower, using one of the extremely fluffy towels to dry himself off. Wrapping one towel around his waist, and using the other to dry his hair he left the bathroom, glad that he had left the door open to his room while he showered. It was a tad bit colder than the bathroom, but it would had been far worse had he closed the door.

The radio was still playing in the background, Dean mostly just ignoring it. _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_ was playing, though Dean wasn't sure. He didn't really listen to Christmas music, not even on Christmas day. He had his style of music and he stuck to it. It was his safety net; the one thing that always remained the same.

Dean was going through his bag trying to find at least one piece of adequately clean clothing when the song caught his attention. Looking up form his bag Dean stared at the radio as if it had just insulted him. Nothing odd was going on, and the lyrics sounded the same to him. Going back to his bag Dean shrugged it off, thinking his mind was just playing tricks on him, like with the dolls. They were probably like that before and he just hadn't noticed.

It was when the radio did it again that Dean walked over to it and picked it up, looking at it to see if there was a lose wire or something. There was something wrong with it, he just didn't know what.

_So don't close your eyes_

_And don't make a sound_

_For Santa Claus_

_Is coming to town_

Now Dean wasn't an idiot, he knew that those were defiantly not the lyrics to the song. Turning the tuning dial Dean tried to find another station, but time after time he kept coming across Christmas Music, never finding another genre on any wavelength, AM or FM. Finally settling on another station Dean put the radio down, looking at it to make sure nothing would happen again.

_Jingle Bells_

_You'll burn in Hell_

_Crying all the way_

_Oh what fun_

_It is to drag_

_Kids behind a sleigh_

_Hey!_

_Jingle bells_

_It's hot in Hell_

_You'll know after today_

_Oh what fun_

_It is to die_

_Because you disobeyed_

Dean practically tore the radio from the wall and threw it across the room, getting the piece of hardware as far away from him as possible.

There was defiantly something weird going on here.


	6. Becoming darker each day

**A/N: Happy Sinterklaas! Don't forget to put your shoe out...**

* * *

Dean stood next to his bed, burning the radio with his gaze, daring it to start playing again. His line of sight was taken away from the radio and to the door when a frantic pounding came from the outside of it, Sam's voice calling out, "Dean! Dean, are you okay?"

Dean turned his head and yelled back at the door, "Yeah I'm fine Sam."

Resuming dressing himself Dean avoided the corner of the room that the radio had landed in, giving it a berth of about five feet. Dean made a mental note to himself to throw it out the window if it so much as moved an inch. Not willing to take any chances Dean walked over to the window, looking to see if there was a safe zone he could toss the thing without hitting any one walking below on the sidewalk.

As he was scanning the area Dean noticed a young girl walking by, she was about sixteen or eighteen years old, he couldn't be sure from this distance. What he was sure of was the fact that she was limping, bad, cradling her one arm against her side. She was moving slowly, obviously in a lot of pain.

Running out of him room Dean blew past Sam's door, pausing just long enough to knock and say, "Sam! Need your help! Meet me downstairs." He left before he heard the answer, going down the stairs three at a time, an added bonus about having long legs.

He made it to the door, quickly throwing on his boots and coat, not bothering to do either of them up. He was just about out the door when he heard Elizabeth call out after him, "No Dean! There's nothing you can do!"

Dean ignored her, dashing after the girl as she slowly made her way down the road. She had put a fair amount of distance between herself and the house, apparently able to limp pretty fast.

Dean called after her, begging her to stop. The girl slowed, as if debating whether or not to listen to him. She eventually stopped, turning to face Dean. She had streams of tears running down her face, the flow so constant that there wasn't time for the water to freeze on her face. Her expression was complete misery, her eyes a bitter mixture of sadness and pain. Her hair was a mess; her clothes rumpled and out of place. She was barely held together, and there was no one offering to help.

Dean caught up to the girl, slowing down so he wouldn't scare her off. He stopped a few feet away from her, knowing better than to approach her directly. He looked her over and asked, "What happened?"

The girl's face switched to pure fear, her body starting to shake. She turned away from Dean and started limping again up the road, as fast as she could, which was pretty fast considering her circumstances.

"Wait!" Dean called after her, taking a few steps forward, "Just let me help you!"

The girl stopped again, her back still turned to Dean as he heard her whisper out, "No one can help me."

Dean stayed where he was, glad that he had finally got to the girl, "Just let me help clean you up. See what I can do."

The girl turned to him, her eyes full of confusion, tears finally ceasing to flow. "Why?"

Dean fought the urge to laugh, "Because that's what people do. They help each other."

The girl looked at the ground, her voice soft, "Not around here they don't."

Dean let that one slide, focusing on more important things, putting his questions aside for later. "Well come inside and let me help you. You can trust me."

The girl looked at him again, her eyes calculating and cold. She looked at him for a few seconds before finally relenting, walking towards Dean as carefully as her leg would let her. When she finally reached him Dean slowly put an arm around her, taking most of her weight on him. They slowly made their way back to the door, by now the girl had her face hidden in Dean's arm, tears soaking his shirt.

Sam was in the hallway when Dean opened the door, clearly annoyed with his older brother, "What the hell Dean? You don't just-" He stopped as soon as he saw the girl, quickly going to his brothers side to help him with her. Dean shook his head as Sam came near, a subtle warning for him to back off.

Dean led her into the kitchen, having her sit on the small table that was in the center of the small room. She sat down with a wince, her teeth clenching together with a squeak, grinding them together with a passion against the pain that was pulsing through her body. Dean pushed on the girl, making her lie down on the table, apologizing as he did it, "I'm sorry, but I'm trying to help you."

Tears sprung to the girl's eyes as she lay back on the table, a silent sob coming to her lips. Dean helped her down, one hand cradling the back of her head, making sure not to jar it any more than it actually was. Turning to Sam Dean snapped out, "Bring me a pail of hot water, scissors and a towel. Oh, and one of my shirts too."

"Dean, what's going-" Sam was clearly out of his element, just standing in the door way awestruck.

"Sam! Just do what I tell you okay? Just for one moment of your life listen to me!" Dean turned on his brother, his eyes flaring. Sam took a step back, surprise taking over his features. It dropped fast though, replaced by bitterness, but he did what Dean asked him to anyway, disappearing from the kitchen as he called for Elizabeth, inquiring about a bucket.

As Sam went and got the items Dean had listed off, Dean was asking the girl what all was wrong. She listed them off emotionlessly, trying to cut herself off from what was happening around her, "I think my arm is broken, my leg might be too. My ribs hurt and my back is throbbing. I don't know. I might have a concussion?"

Dean nodded, standing above the girl, "I need you to open your eyes and look at me."

The girl did as he instructed, her eyes meeting his. Dean pulled out his penlight, something he always had attached to his keychain. Moving the light back and forth before her eyes he watched for the contraction of her pupils, making sure that they were normal. "Do you feel nauseous or tired at all?"

The girl nodded, "Yeah. Tired that is."

Dean hummed, clicking the light off, "Well you might have a minor concussion so no matter how much you want to fall asleep you can't okay?"

The girl nodded, her eyes sliding closed. Dean shook her slightly, not wanting to hurt her anymore, "That means eyes open okay?"

The girl nodded again. Sam had come back by now, a large bowl of hot water in his one hand, towel over his arm, scissors in the other and a shirt over his shoulder. Placing them on the counter he went to Deans side, "Is there anything I can do?"

Dean shot him a glare, making Sam take a step back, "Stay out of my way and do as I saw, no questions asked okay?"

Sam swallowed, nodding. Dean held his hand out, saying simply, "Scissors."

Sam handed them over, watching as Dean slowly cut the girls jacket, sweater, and tank top off, leaving her in only her bra. With all the excess fabric removed Dean could see the extent of her injuries, and they were bad. There were bruises all up and down her back, the down coat muffling the beating enough for her skin to remain in place. The deep purple coloring went from her armpit and down her side, disappearing under her. This was all on her right side, her left bare. Dean figured that she curled up on her left side, the road protecting it from getting any of the beating.

When Dean tried to slip the sleeve down her right arm, the girl hissed making Dean stop in his tracks. He took to scissors in hand again, cutting down the sleeve, slicing it in half. Dean could hear Sam gag behind him, most people would at the sight of a radius bursting from a forearm. Dean was surprised that it hadn't ripped through her coat, and that the girl hadn't passed out. She must have been smart enough to keep pressure on it though as it wasn't bleeding profusely, having missed the artery located in the wrist and the one that was located on the radius. Dean didn't know how it didn't break but the girl should be thanking her lucky stars it hadn't. She would have bleed to death before anyone could have helped her.

Dean steeled himself, pulling the fabric away from her skin, the blood still wet enough to take the fabric away without pulling at the broke skin under it. He motioned towards Sam with his hand, beckoning him forward. He could hear Sam shuffling towards him, stopping a few feet away. "Sam, get your ass over here."

Sam appeared at his side, fighting to keep whatever food was in his stomach there. He let out a quick, "Yeah?" before clamping his mouth shut once again.

Dean was moving to the girl's right side, rolling his sleeves up. "I am going to need you to hold her down, she's going to try and get away from me and that can't happen you understand me?"

"What are you going to do?" Sam's voice was a whisper, his eyes wide.

"I need to set the bone, and it is going to be incredibly painful," Dean let the '_I should know'_ slide. This wasn't the time or place.

Sam placed his hands on the girl's collarbones, trying to find a place that wasn't bruised to place them. Dean took the towel from the counter and placed it in the girl's mouth, telling her to bite down on it. Once the towel was in place Dean put his hands on her arm, taking a deep breath before pulling on her arm, watching the bone slip back under her skin. This was the tricky part, getting the bone back in place without tearing muscle or tissues, especially not getting any caught in between the bone as he put it back. With a practiced hand Dean pushed the bone up then down quickly, clearing the area of muscle before the bone connected with itself once again.

The girl was screaming, the towel in her mouth doing nothing to muffle the animal like cries coming from her tiny body. Tears were rolling down her face again; her teeth bore against the yellow towel, piercing through the fibers. Once Dean had finished her cries stilled, whimpering replacing the heartbreaking noise.

Dean was still looking at the young girls arm when he spoke to Sam once again, "I need a needle, thread, a candle, matches, whiskey, gauze and a iron poker."

When Sam didn't move Dean looked up. His brother had a death grip on the girl's shoulders, hard enough to add the bruises that already covered her body. His eyes were glued to the wound on her arm, drinking in the sight of the blood slowly oozing from it to the table, a small puddle forming beneath the appendage.

"Sam!" Dean's voice snapped him out of his stupor, Sam coming back to reality. He quickly pulled his hands away from the girl as she burned him. He was in shock, not really believing that this was happening to him, that he was helping his brother fix a girl that they hadn't even known existed ten minutes ago. "Sam, did you hear what I said?"

Dean's cold green glare helped Sam get a grip, making him focus on what he was supposed to be doing. "Yeah, I heard you." He turned and went out the kitchen again, looking for Elizabeth one more time.

Dean took the time to cut off the girl's jeans, not knowing if her leg was broken like she had assumed. Once the jeans were cut away Dean could see that her leg was not broken, possibly fractured though. He couldn't be sure, she would have to go to a hospital as soon as she could to get it checked. He would put a splint on her leg, just to be safe.

By the time that he was done checking her legs, Sam had come back, his arms bursting with the supplies that Dean had asked for. Dropping them all on the counter Sam turned to the girl, ready to do whatever was needed. Dean moved back to the girls arm, holding on hand out to Sam, "Whiskey."

The bottle was placed in Dean's hand and he twisted the lid off, holding the rim to the girl's mouth, "Drink." Holding her head up, one hand placed against the back of her skull Dean tipped the bottle into her mouth, the amber liquid flowing down the neck. She took a small sip, coughing at the harsh burn that travelled to her belly.

Placing her head back down on the table, Dean poured some of the liquid on her arm, the girl crying out again as the alcohol hit her blood stream. She became silent again after a second, her eyes staring at the ceiling. Her lips were moving and if Dean had looked close enough he could read her lips forming the words of the Apostles Creed.

Taking the candle from the counter Dean lit it, placing the tip of the needle into the flame, making sure it was black before he took it out again. Waiting for it to cool for a second, he threaded the black string through the eye, tying the ends together so the note wouldn't slip through her skin. Testing the needle on his own finger, Dean deemed it cool enough and slipped the needle through her skin.

The girl bit back a cry, turning her head away from the sight of the metal passing in and out of her skin, bringing the torn muscles and fibers back together. Fifty close-knit stitches later Dean knotted the end of the string, cutting it off with the scissors he had used half an hour ago. The girl was still awake, Sam making sure that she didn't pass out or fall asleep.

Dean took the whiskey one more time, pouring it over the freshly closed wound, sterilizing just to make sure. Dean took the water, more luke-warm than hot anymore, and cleaned the blood off the area around the wound. Wrapping her arm in gauze Dean checked his work over, making sure that he didn't miss anything. The girl was going to be in a lot of pain for quite a while, but she would live, not that anyone had done anything to save her.

Moving to her left side Dean put her good arm over his shoulder, helping her sit up. Looking at Sam he said softly, "My shirt."

Sam handed him the piece of fabric, already unbuttoned. Dean slipped the shirt on the girl, her thin frame covered completely by the oversized clothing. Once she was covered Dean put his arm under her legs, keeping one behind her back and lifted her from the table, carrying her up to his room. He laid her gently down on the bed, placing a pillow below her head. Whispering he said, "Go to sleep, I'll be back to wake you every hour." With that he walked out of the room, shutting the door silently behind him.

Sam was standing in the hallway, still slightly shocked from what had just happened. His eyes were glazed over, as if her was lost in his thoughts. Faintly he said, "Dean, what was the iron rod for?"

Dean ducked his head, avoiding eye contact with his brother as he slipped past him, "In case I had to burn her wounds shut."


	7. As the hurt became eminent

**A/N: Hope you all got chocolate in your shoe!**

* * *

Sam and Dean took shifts that night watching over the girl and making sure to wake her every hour. Dean would have done it himself but Sam was making a huge deal out of him having to sleep too so Dean gave in just to get him to stop talking.

It was Sam's shift, he came in to see his brother sitting beside his bed, his feet kicked out before him, hands fisted together against his lips. His brows were drawn together; her was clearly in deep thought about something, an event that Sam thought that he would never see. Placing a hand on Dean's shoulder Sam let his presence be known. Dean didn't move, he just continued to stare at the girl, his fingers tensing then relaxing. He eventually stood up, saying nothing to Sam as he left; the room remained as silent as the grave.

Sam took Dean's place in the chair, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. Like his brother he too got lost in thought, his mind spinning 'round with attempts to reason out this girl's predicament; Brady called it his 'lawyer brain', something that never went to sleep. Sam was hard wired to find the truth, to help people who couldn't stand up for themselves, and this girl had intrigued him.

The echoing _bongs_ from a grandfather clock told Sam that it was time to wake the girl; another hour was up. Placing one hand on the girls shoulder, Sam shook her lightly, the girl stirring at the movement. She opened her eyes and looked at Sam, her face emotionless but gratitude shining from her eyes. Sam smiled slightly when the girl shut her eyes again, falling back asleep.

Sam leaned back in the chair, getting comfortable for the long night ahead of him.

Dean came around eight the next morning, a tray balanced in his hands as he swung the door open. Sam got up from the seat that was going to be permanently shaped his form for the foreseeable future. Dean took the chair, letting the tray sit on his lap. The girl stirred on the bed, the smells from the tray rustling her out of her shallow sleep.

Sam left the room before Dean could say anything to him, going down the stairs to get breakfast for himself. There was a pot of porridge on the stove, fresh fruit in a bowl on the counter to use as toppings.

Sam didn't even notice what he was doing as he made himself a bowl, his mind too busy asking questions. What was the girl doing, why was she attacked, who was she?

And most importantly, how did Dean know how to do all that stuff?

An hour later Dean was helping the girl down the stairs, deciding that it was time to take the girl home. She now had a pair of Dean's jeans on, two pieces of wood around her leg, holding it in place, a belt keeping the baggy jeans around her waist. She still had the shirt on from last night, another makeshift splint tied around her arm. She looked far better than she had last night, the color back in her face and life in her eyes. She even had a faint smile on her face as she came down the stairs.

Sam came out of the parlor from where he was reading a copy of the Bible, the only book that seemed to be in the house. He hung behind Dean, waiting for him to say something, anything. Once Dean was at the front door he simply said, "Can you help me?"

Sam scurried over, holding the girl up as Dean placed her shoes on her feet, careful not to move her leg too much. He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, as he couldn't get a coat over the splint. Once the girl was all bundled up her took her into his arms and carried her out of the door.

Sam followed, his curiosity getting the better of him. The girl told Dean where to turn and which roads to follow before they ended up in front of another perfect house, this one painted a deep red. Dean walked up to the front door, knocking on the wood.

It was a few seconds before the door swung open, a man about the age of forty standing there. His eyes narrowed until he caught sight of the girl, his mouth dropping, panic and concern taking over. Stepping to the side he motioned Dean in saying, "Get her inside, quickly."

Sam and Dean followed the man in, heading to a room that they assumed was hers. There was a twin bed against the wall and Dean sat her down on it, making sure her leg was on the bed for elevation.

The girl muttered a faint thanks, dropping her eyes and blushing faintly. Dean didn't say anything, walking out of the room in silence. He went back to the man, his face dark, "Okay, I am sick of people ducking my questions, I want to know what the Hell's going on and I want to know now."

"Where did you find her?" The man was staring at the door, his hands wringing.

"Down in front of the bed and breakfast," Dean opened his mouth to speak again but the man interrupted him.

"Was it bad?" His eyes turned to Dean, fear clouding them.

"Worse than I had seen in a long time." Dean paused, the fear of the man confusing him, "What aren't you telling me?"

The man looked nervous, turning and looking around the house before ushering Dean into the living room. Sam followed, wanting to know just as much as Dean did.

The man looked around the room one more time before saying, "I can't tell you everything but I can tell you this. You have to get out, get out now, before you become a part of it. We can't leave, it's too late, but you can. Please, go."

The man was practically begging Dean, his hands twitching, as his eyes kept moving around the room, looking for something that wasn't there.

"But what are we running from?" It was Sam who spoke this time, his mouth moving before his brain did.

The man came closer, leaning forward as he whispered, "He sees everything. You thought that Santa was bad, but he's got nothing on him. Santa forgives, Santa forgets, but he doesn't. You can't run, you can't hide, he'll come for you and he will find you. He knows everything and he remembers everything. So please, go, and don't ask me again, I can't tell you."

"Please, just a name," Sam pulled out his puppy eyes, not understanding what he was asking.

The man twitched one more time before whispering, "Black Peter."


	8. And darkness comes to play

The man shut the door silently behind the boys, shutting them out in the cold once again. Sam walked down the sidewalk, in the opposite direction of where they came. Dean watched his brother walk for a while before asking, with all the patience of a mother scolding her child, "Where are you going?"

Sam turned, nodding his head in the direction that he was walking, "The Library."

"Why?" Dean might have over exaggerated his exasperation, but this was Sam he was talking to. Everything he did seemed to get under his skin.

Sam replied in the same tone that Dean used, mocking him, "So I can find out who Black Peter is."

"Whatever," Dean started walking in the opposite direction of Sam, "Do what you want, see if I care."

Sam shrugged and continued to the Library, oblivious to Dean's mood. When Dean noticed that his brother wasn't following him he curse, muttering to him, "Fuck you Sam."

Sam arrived at the library five minutes later, his legs numb and cheeks burning. He had seen the building when they were walking around town the other day, making a note to visit it later when Dean wasn't around. He didn't strike Sam as the academic type. Like every other building in the town, the Library was any book lovers dream. There were shelves upon shelves of books, all in pristine condition, looking as if they hadn't even been touched yet. Each genre of books each had their own room, making Sam's want to explore each corner even worse. Instead of giving in he walked to the back of the building where five sleek apple computers stood, pushed into the far corner as if to say 'Out of sight, out of mind'. It was a library after all; the books were the main focus.

Sam sat down before the last one, one that could only be seen if you were directly before it, hidden by shelves and the wall angle.

It was easier than Sam expected to find anything on the name 'Black Peter'; millions of hits came up on the name alone. Clicking on the first website to appear Sam began to read.

_There are many traditions around the world that center around the winter solstice. Christmas and Hanukah are two of them most widely known celebrations, but there are a few smaller ones that people celebrate as well, one of them is Sinterklaas. _

_This celebration originated from the countries that we now call Germany and Holland. The tale begins much like the story of Santa Claus, a man helps save a family of young girls but until like the widely known version it in not from poverty but prostitution. And the money did not appear in their drying stockings but in their shoes, the reason that children now put their shoes out before the fireplace in anticipation of getting something in them the next morning. _

_These similarities are found because the tale of Santa Claus was derived from the Sinterklaas story itself. Sinterklaas travels from rooftop to rooftop on a white horse; Santa goes from rooftop to rooftop using reindeer. Sinterklaas gives candy to children when they are good; Santa gives toys (this change was made after WWII, when consumerism boomed). Sinterklaas leaves a chocolate letter in children's shoes while Santa leaves presents in stockings. Both are dressed in red and have large white beards, their personalities something of a kind grandfather. Cookies would be left out for both of the men and carrots for their respective animals._

_There are also many differences between the two stories as well. While Santa Claus comes from the North Pole on the 24__th__ of December, Sinterklaas comes from Spain, travelling to Holland on a steamboat on the eve of the 5__th__, arriving on the 6__th__. From there he goes from house to house on his horse; Santa travels on his sleigh the whole time. Santa hands out presents; Sinterklaas gives out mandarins and candy. Santa is dressed in a red suit where as Sinterklaas is dressed in traditional bishop garb. While Santa has friendly elves, Sinterklaas travels around with five or eight men given the title 'Zwarte Piet'. _

_Children in America are told stories about getting coal in their stockings if they were naughty. Children in Holland have much more to worry about. The character known as 'Zwarte Piet' carries around a sack with him as he goes from house to house with Sinterklaas. He is known by the fact that his skin is completely black. There are stories that say Zwarte Piet was a slave freed by Sinterklaas and decided to travel with him and help him on his travels. The story changed in the last 20__th__ century to say that his face is black due to the soot on the inside of the chimneys that he would climb up and down. _

_The sack that Zwarte Piet carried around held candy and the broom of a chimney sweep. If the children were good, they received candy. If the children were bad, Zwarte Piet would beat them with the broom. If the children were especially naughty Zwarte Piet would take the children in his sack back to Spain, making the children into pepernootjes or kruidnoten, both a type of cookie that would be left by Sinterklaas on the doorsteps of houses._

Sam's eyes got wider and as he read, the nauseous feeling in his stomach growing as he continued. It finally came to a boiling point when he read about the cookies. He ran to the nearest trashcan, emptying the contents of his stomach. Sam leaned his head against the trashcan and moaned, the feeling of nausea not leaving.

He had eaten one of the cookies.

The man shut the door behind the boys, resting his head against the wooden frame as he let out a deep breath, his heart rate slowing down.

He stood straight, slightly grateful that his niece had come back to him, safe and sound. Esther had been put in his care after her mother and father had both disappeared. It might have been because she was born out of wedlock, but no one made speculations, tongues were as silent as the dead when it came to this town. They only spoke of that which was smiled upon, which was not much.

"Mordecai." The voice came from behind the man, startling him and making him jump. He spun around, his heart rate spiking once again as he saw the man standing behind him. He was there, the ghost that stories had been told about and passed down from generation to generation, name only being spoken once but imprinted on minds for lifetimes. The fear that was associated with him was something that no human should ever live with, the reminders of who he was following them everyday of their lives.

"Do you know why I am here?" The man spoke again, his voice low and calm, as if he was soothing a child.

"No." Mordecai refused to look at him, his eyes moving from wall to wall, seeking anything to focus his attention on other than the creature before him.

"Now Mordecai, you know what is said about lying," the man took a step closer to Mordecai, tilting his head down so he could catch the others mans eyes.

Mordecai kept his gaze on the ground, hands shaking once again, "Of course. I was taught many years ago."

"So do you not understand what you just did?" The man was still speaking to him in a soft tone, slow like he was trying to get him to understand the words that he was saying.

"It was not a lie, it was truth." Mordecai's voice was stronger, giving him the strength to dare to look up.

The man was smiling, something that sent even more shivers down Mordecai's spine, "Very good. Very good. But you still disobeyed Mordecai. My name was never to be spoken, did I not tell you that when I came all those years ago? The night I came to your house and gave you a warning like all the others? Another chance Mordecai, not many get one of those, and yet you did. And you still choose to disobey? Does it not state the you shall obey the laws of man?"

Mordecai dropped his face again, "Yes, but it says that you shall not lie."

"So it does, but is it seen as lying by saying that you may not tell as it is forbidden. No, for this is the truth, and the truth will set you free Mordecai." The voice was getting closer, Mordecai refusing to look up.

Straining with one last hope Mordecai whispered, "Is it not also written that the blameless shall throw the first stone?"

"So it does Mordecai. Good thing me and my brothers are without blame," and the man descended upon him and Mordecai knew no more.


	9. It comes to display

Sam left the library immediately, running to the bed and breakfast as fast as his legs could take him. This was one time that he wished his legs were just a little bit longer, the abnormally long extremities just not good enough for him at this moment. He ran though the town, his focus solely on getting back to his brother.

His focus shifted though as he ran through the town square, the crowds of people peeking his interest. He slowed, eventually coming to a slow walk as he strained to see what it was that the townspeople were staring at. Sam made his way through the crowd, pushing his way to the front. The people let his go easily, no one making any movement to stop him. They were all wide-eyed and silent, unmoving, as still as the stones that marked a grave. Sam himself became one to as soon as his eyes hit the sight that have taken everyone's hope.

* * *

Dean was pacing around the room, it had been hours since Sam had gone to the library and Dean was anxious to get going, to leave this town forever. Glancing at his watch one more time Dean huffed, leaving his room and the house, shrugging on his jacket as he walked out the door, his annoyance making him walk just a little bit faster.

Dean walked, head down, shoulders hunched, and his hands in his pockets, trying to keep the heat in his leather jacket for just a little bit longer. He did not notice the crowd that was gathered in the square until he bumped into one of them, muttering a faint 'Watch where you're going'. He lifted his head enough to see the collection of people, ignoring them and continuing on his way to get his brother.

It was the yell that made him stop and go back, moving quite quickly too in fact. He pushed through the crowd, the people giving way in the same manner that they did for Sam. Dean was able to make it to the center of the crowd, his eyes drawn to the center as a fly is drawn to honey.

There was Mordecai, hung from a wooden stake before the giant Christmas tree. His hand were tied above his head, each arm bent the wrong way. His legs had collapsed under him, Dean guessing by the sight of them that they were broken several times. He was bleeding from his head, the entire side completely gone, and the white of bone shining through the dried crimson of his blood. His face was torn into ribbons; precise and equal slashes marring the once flawless skin.

The rope that tied him to the pole with was cutting into his wrists, but no blood was flowing from them; Dean knew that he was dead. Guilt flooded him, made a hundred times worse when he heard the girls voice call out to him.

"You! This is your fault!" Esther was at the feet of her uncle, bent over and sobbing, her pain breaking the hearts everyone around her. Her hands were clutching the pants her uncle wore, fluids streaming from her face.

Her eyes were not on Dean though; they were looking at the other side of the crowd, which Dean strained to see. He cursed silently as he saw Sam standing there, the girl continuing to yell at him.

"You came and this happens, he talks to you and now he's dead!" She was hysterical, her voice getting higher and higher as she continued to yell. Sam took a step towards her, his instincts telling him to comfort the girl. "NO! Stay away from me!" the girl cowered away from Sam, making the boy take a step back, his eyes wide and confused. "Go away! Just go away and never come back!"

That was when Sam disappeared into the crowd, Dean losing sight of him right away, "Sam!" Dean called for his brother, pushing back out of the crowd, trying to get to his fleeing sibling.

Sam was walking swiftly away from the crowd, his head down and shoulders hunched. Dean had to jog a little bit to catch up with him, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder and forcefully turning his around to face him. "Sam, what the hell? I'm talking to you."

"Just leave me alone Dean." Sam brushed Dean's hand off of his shoulder, turning to walk away one more time.

"No Sam. I am not going to just let you walk away-" Dean tried to start talking but Sam interrupted quickly.

"Enough Dean! Just leave me alone. I started this so I am going to finish it." Sam turned from his brother and left, leaving his brother standing by himself in the middle of the snow covered street. Freezing cold and entirely confused.

* * *

**A/N: I know this is a short one and I ****apologize. I hope I can make up for it in another one later on...**


	10. Puts people on edge

Dean watched for a few moments before he went after Sam again. This time he took Sam's shoulder and didn't let go, his grip making Sam's jacket scrunch up under his fist. Dean basically threw Sam around, getting in his face as he stated, "Sam, we need to leave. There is nothing for us to stay for, no reason for us to be here."

Sam tried to get out of Dean's grip one more time but to no avail. Instead he snapped back at him, "You might have nothing Dean but it's my fault that he's dead alright? It's my fault and I am not leaving until I have fixed it."

"What are you going to do Sam? Bring him back to life because I don't think even you can do that." Dean let Sam go, scoffing at him while he spoke.

Sam was pissed now, Dean just wasn't listening, "I am the reason he is dead Dean, do you not get that? I can't just leave knowing that someone DIED because of me."

Dean just stared at Sam, not knowing what to say to him. He understood, God knew he understood but they couldn't just stay, there was nothing for them to do. "So what are you going to do Sam? Hm? What's your brilliant plan here?"

"I have to stop him before someone dies again," Sam calmed down a bit, hoping that Dean would begin to listen for once in his life.

"Stop who Sam?" Now Dean was interested, Sam had something worth listening to after all.

"Black Peter. He's real Dean and he's the reason that girl was beaten and the thing that killed that man. I, I made him say it, I killed him…" Sam's voice trailed off, the guilt taking over one more time.

It was when Dean laughed that Sam snapped, his face becoming stone as he glared at his brother. Dean's head was tilted back, his throat bared as he gave out a hearty laugh. He put his hand on Sam's shoulder, trying to regain himself as he wiped a hand over his face.

Sam shoved the hand off his shoulder, his mood far beyond grim. Dean stopped laughing instantly, his expression matching Sam's. "What the Hell Sam?"

Sam just glared at his brother, staring daggers at him, "If you don't want to help me fine. Just don't mock me or get in my way. You can go back to the bed and breakfast and sit on your ass. I am going."

Dean took a step towards his brother, one finger pointed at him, "Now listen here you arrogant son-of-a-bitch, don't you dare assume that you know anything about me. I could tell you stories about myself that would make your tiny, sheltered, fucking head spin around so many times that it would fall off faster than you could fuck your girlfriend. So don't tell me what to do, don't you dare. Now, you want my help? Tell me what you know. But don't fuck around with me. Do you understand?"

Sam glared back at Dean, hissing out, "Yeah. I do."

Dean backed off a step, crossing his arms, "Good. Now spill."

Sam huffed, turning away from Dean for a moment before facing him, re-telling the story that he had read not minutes before, "This man called Black Peter, other wise known as Zwarte Piet, he would follow around a European version of Santa Claus," he shot Dean a look before he could say anything, seeing the edge of a smile on his face, "He is the version of getting coal in your stocking, except he is worse, far worse. If you're bad, you get beaten, if you are terrible he takes and kills you, making your remains into cookies for people to eat the next year, passing them out to each house."

Dean just looked at him, trying to figure out if he was pulling his leg or not. After examining Sam for a about ten seconds Dean made a face, "That's disgusting."

Sam raised his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Dean became serious, his face becoming dark, "You don't expect me to believe this do you? I mean really Sam? Fairytales and bedtime stories? Grow up Sam, those things don't exist and they never will."

"Fine if you don't believe me then leave me alone. I'll take care of it, I don't need your help." Sam was sick of Dean by now, he was more pig headed than he had first believed.

"Stop assuming Sam, I never said that. It's just completely unbelievable! Why don't you go and find something that actually could have happened and stop chasing the Easter bunny around the church yard." Dean couldn't believe his brother. There was always a reasonable explanation; always someone with a vengeance or just plain messed up. There were no such things as fairytales, no such things as dreams, no such things as heroes. There was no one who comes sweeping in to save the day, no one to beat the bad guys. "Let's just find the **person** that is behind this and get it over with."

Sam finally snapped, turning on Dean, "Why do you hate me so much Dean?"

That caught Dean by surprise, making him open and close his mouth several times before he could form a coherent sentence, "I don't hate you Sam…"

Sam scoffed at him, running a hand through his hair, "Yes you do Dean. I know you do. Want to know why? Because I hate you too."


	11. Conflicts arise

Sam's confession stunned Dean making him gape at him. Sam looked at him, waiting for the answer from Dean's lips. When Dean didn't answer Sam repeated himself, "Well?"

Dean closed himself off, turning away from his brother, "You don't want to know."

Sam scoffed, the sass dripping from his voice, "No Dean, I really want to know."

Dean's head snapped up, his face deadly, "You want to truth? Fine! You want to know why I hate you Sam? It's because she chose you! She left me behind and never came back, perfectly content with the other son that she had, not even caring that she left her first born behind with the monster that she had married. And yeah Sam, Dad was a monster. Not to me, no, he wouldn't touch a hair on my head. I was his solider, the perfect one. Never questioning him, never saying no. If you even knew the half of the stuff that I did for him I would be in jail for life.

I wasn't his son, and I wasn't mom's either. You were the only one that either of them would talk about, Sam this and Sam that. Why aren't you like Sam Dean? Why couldn't you stay in school Dean? Why didn't you become some big fucking hotshot lawyer like Sam Dean? Why are you such a disappointment? You are never going to become anything. You're going to die alone with no one around you because you are worthless.

Do you know what that is like Sam? To be compared to the fucking little brother that you only knew for three years of your life? To never see that little brother to know what made him so much better than you? I never saw you, I never saw her. No one wanted me, they all wanted you.

Did you even know that you had a brother? Was I even mentioned to you? Did Mom even talking about me in fleeting? 'Oh Sam, I forgot to mention it, but you have an older brother that you have never met and never will. Just don't forget to include him in the will when I die, he might like that vase on the counter.'

How was I supposed to react to you Sam? I walked into your graduation hoping to see that my little brother was just as human as I was, that he had flaws too. But no, I couldn't have been more wrong. Top of his class, valedictorian; Mom and Dad both cheering from the audience while I hid in the shadows and watched. Do you know who came to my graduation Sam? No one. Not even Dad, he was to busy fixing an engine to see his son get his diploma.

So tell me Sam, why do I hate you? No really, I want to know. What gives me the right to hate someone like you? I think the better question here is, what gives you the nerve to hate me?"

Sam turned away from his brother, his stomach dropping into his toes. "I never knew Dean. Hell, Mom didn't even talk about you until I was fifteen. She took a sudden interest in making sure that I would do something with my life. I know now that it was because of you. She didn't want me to turn into you."

Sam faced his brother, tears in his eyes, "I had this estranged brother who never came to see me, was the shame of the family. I thought that you were some criminal, some whacked out murder that Mom and Dad were afraid of.

I came to see you once, couple years back. You were working in the auto shop, your head buried under a car. You looked normal, sane in fact. But it was when a man came around back, slipping behind you and whispering something in your ear I knew that there was something going on there. I watched as you two went out back, you handing him something in a bag. That's when I you were a lost cause in my eyes. My brother, the exact person that I had been told about for the last couple years of my life. The doom that I was never suppose to become."

Dean practically growled, getting right into Sam's face, "You ignorant bastard! The reason that I knew how to take care of that girl, the reason that I can do everything that I do, the reason that I know all that I do is because of Dad. His automotive shop was a cover Sam! And I was dragged in kicking and screaming into his job. I was twelve years old when I put my first dislocated shoulder into place, thirteen when I stitched Dad up for the first time. I watched as deals were made in the living room, as people were shot behind the shop. And could I do anything? No. Dad had me in it before I even knew what was happening. He had me working at the shop, apart of his ring without my consent. So what could I do? Take the fall and spend the rest of my life in prison for things that I never did? Or sit there and let my father ruin my life, maybe help and slowly shut it down from the inside? I'm not the bad guy here Sam. I was trying to shut down Dad's operation before it got out of hand. I was trying to make it go away! I'm not the bad guy! You were just told a pile of shit your entire life and you ate it with a golden spoon, thanking Mom for every bite that you got!"

Sam tried to speak, but Dean interrupted him, "No! I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth. I've heard enough Sam, and I don't want your pity. I don't want you to understand. I just want you to know the truth. You've heard it, now piss off and leave me alone. Fix your problem and don't come crying to me. You just lost me as a brother, I am going to drop you off tomorrow and I am never want to see you again."

And then Dean walked away, leaving Sam behind, the crowd slowly fading away.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, let me say this first: I am not a mother. I can only imagine the pain that would come from leaving your child behind when you left. So in my mind Mary coped with the pain by inventing a different version of Dean that would be easier for her to let go, hence the version that she told Sam about. She believed in this version of Dean so much that he eventually took over the real version, leaving only the terrible, sad Dean that you read Sam talking about.**

**Secondly, I believe that is exactly how John would treat Dean. Forgetting that he was his son and treating him like another solider. Yeah, I know.**


	12. And feelings become dead

Sam turned, walking back to his warm room completely numb. He didn't even know how he got there, only that there was bed beneath him and a pillow under his head. He was looking at the ceiling, subconsciously counting the dots that spattered across it. There were exactly sixty-five, most of them clustered to the area above the bed.

Sam noticed none of this, his mind on loop, replaying the conversation over and over again, his world crumbling at the edges. Everything that he had believed to be true was a charade, the truth buried deep underneath. He had a brother that was three times the man that he thought he was, possibly even better than he was. There was this whole new person claiming to be his older brother and Sam didn't know what to do with it.

Dean stormed around the town; trying to find somewhere he could drown every emotion that was plaguing him. He refused to believe that they didn't have some kind of bar around here, they couldn't be that messed up. Dean was close to completing the full circle that he was walking around the town when he saw it, hidden between a dark house, possibly abandoned, and a small variety store, the only light coming out of it was from the 'closed' sign in the window. Dean walked towards it, noticing that it was empty except for the bar tender walking around.

When Dean opened the door, what was once a musical doorbell rang out; far past its expiry date it sounded more like a dying cat than anything remotely close to a song. Helping himself to a bar stool Dean glanced around the place, glad that he had finally found a place that wasn't contaminated by Christmas. The bar was simple, a couple of booths lining the walls, and old, cracked, stained leather covering the seats. The pictures on the wall were mismatched and random, varying from famous people to what seemed like old pets. There was a light by each seat, a cord hanging down so you could choose whether or not you wanted it on. The entire place was muted, the colors dark and drab. The bar was scuffed and chipped, worn over years of people touching, slamming, scraping, and banging.

Dean was still looking around when the bar keeper said, his voice low and broken in the way that a smokers would be after chain smoking for most of their life, "What you want?"

Dean turned, "What's the strongest you've got?"

Bar keeper put his hand under that bar, pulling out a bottle of 151, placing it before Dean. Dean nodded, the man pulling out a glass and filling the bottom with half an inch of the liquid. He pushed the glass towards Dean, leaving the bottle out.

Taking the glass Dean downed it in one shot, clearing his throat after to get rid of the burn. Dean drank a lot, but nothing could prepare him for the alcohol content of 151. It was nice, something that he could actually forget with. Placing the glass back on the counter he simply motioned to it, watching as the glass was filled slowly.

"That bad huh?" The bar keeper didn't look at him, his eyes on the glass, making sure he gave the right amount of the powerful stuff.

"You have no idea," Dean downed the glass again, a buzz starting to form behind his right eye.

It took one more for Dean to finally start feeling better, switching to just beer after. He wanted to numb the pain, not die from alcohol poisoning. It was after two beers that the bar keeper stopped serving him, saying that he had more than enough. Dean would have fought that tooth and nail had he been able to do more than walk. When he tried to get out of his stool he decided that he was right, gripping the edge just to stay on his feet.

He made it out the door; not knowing which way it was to the house. He apparently had chosen the right way as twenty minutes later he was dragging himself up the stairs to the white porch, lugging himself through the door and up the stairs, throwing himself on his bed, and passing out as soon as his eyes closed.

Sam heard Dean come back; he made enough noise to wake the block after all. It took everything he had to not help him or kill him. He ignored him, closing his eyes and shutting out the heavy steps that echoed down the hallway.

He couldn't wait for morning.

All he wanted was to get out of this God-forsaken town.

* * *

**A/N: *sing to the tune of Thriller* It's a Filler! Filler! **

**Okay, enough from the peanut gallery. Things(life mostly) are going to start picking up now, so I am mentally exhausted. Ignore anything errors please. I am dog tired.**


	13. The darkness comes to life

"Wake up Dean."

Dean shifted in his sleep, pulling the pillow that he was clutching closer to his body. He rubbed his face against the sheets under his head trying to go back into the peaceful sleep he was slowly waking from. Curling up he shivered a bit, throwing his hand out trying to find the thick cover that kept the cold out like a shield. Dean's eye brows came together when he couldn't find it, his hand patting the whole bed before he finally opened his eyes, the blackness as total as when he had his eyes closed.

"Dean." The voice came from the shadows, echoing around the room so Dean didn't know where it was coming from. His eyes scanned the room, searching for something that would tell him where the voice came from. The only thing that Dean's eyes could make out was the end of his bed, everything else covered by a thick darkness that you could feel, it crawled into your body, oozing over bones and sticking to them like tar. Dean moved to get out of his bed to go and see who was there when the voice spoke again, "NO."

Dean stopped, freezing where he was, both legs hanging over the side of the bed, hands sitting on the outside of his hips. He didn't know why he stopped, he just had to. The voice said he had to, so he did, he had no choice. The voice was commanding, worse than anything he had ever heard out of his father's mouth, there was no option for disobedience. Dean shifted his weight, not sure as to what was happening, "Okay…why?"

The voice moved as it spoke, coming from one corner of the room then the other, moving in a random pattern, faster than a human could, "To see if you obeyed. Well done Dean, you have potential."

This sparked something in Dean, a rebellious nature if you please. He made another move to stand up, something a child would do just to spite their parents, just because they said not to.

"SIT." Dean sat down with a bounce, unable to stop himself. He was shocked, convinced that he was dreaming, why else would he not have the worlds greatest hangover?

"What do you want?" Dean's eyes keep looking around the room, making note that the window and door were shut, nothing within his arms reach other than pillows and a lot of good they would do for him. He would have to rely on surprise, making sure he could do SOMETHING before the, whatever, spoke again.

"I just want to talk. Is there something wrong with that?" The voice was getting closer, Dean becoming more on edge, his fingers tightening on the edge of the mattress.

"That's no good you know. You can't move, I had to make sure of that. I don't understand why people are convinced that they need to run from me. I really am a nice guy, well, I guess that depends on you. Do you want me to be a nice guy?" The voice was honest, truly curious. It took a few seconds before Dean realized that he was being asked a question, nodding his agreement, why wouldn't he want the voice to be nice?

"Good." The voice moved again, jumping to the corner near the door, "Now, do you know who I am?"

Dean was trying to keep up with the voice, his eyes following it as it bounced round and round, "Not in the Biblical sense."

The voice tisked, "Now Dean, that was entirely inappropriate. That's one strike. I assume I don't need to tell you what happens when you get three? No? Good. Now, do you know who I am?"

"Da Terminator?" Dean spoke with an accent, mimicking Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Suddenly a face appeared right before Dean, white eyes staring right at him, narrowing to tiny slits as the voice hissed, "You're not very good at this are you? That's two Dean. Answer my question."

Dean spoke through his teeth, sneering, "No clue creepy."

The face moved back from him, fading into the darkness, "You've heard of me before Dean. Think hard, Sam was very excited about meeting me. Imagine how disappointed he would be when he finds out you met me first…"

Dean struggled to move, fingers ripping the sheets, "You son-of-a-bitch!"

The voice chuckled, "Ah! So you have heard of me." The voice moved, making Dean jump as it come from beside the bed, "So you know why I am here then."

Dean refused to speak, biting back the comment that would earn him a third strike.

A shiver went down his spine as breath hit the side of his neck, the words dripping into his ear, "I'm here to give you a second chance."

Dean leaned as far as he could away, shuddering as much as his body would allow. The voice moved to the other side of his head, Dean feeling the light graze of the things mouth as it said, "Everyone gets one, deserving or not. It's what they do with it that discerns one from the other."

Dean remained staring forward, his face stone-like, "Who died and made you King?"

The face came back, expressionless it said, "The Devil died and I took his spot. Who needs a God when you have me? The defense, the jury, and the judge? But like every good consul, I do have rules to follow. Every good man does. But answer me this Dean, what do I follow?"

Dean didn't answer, looking straight into the things eyes. It smiled again, it's teeth just as white as it's eyes, "The book Dean. The book that trillions have read over the course of history, the book that millions worship sometimes even more than the God that it claims is real. There are rules that are outlined that each and every person should be following, believer or not. These are the rules that I abide by, judging all those who are with blame. This is my job Dean, my pride, my joy."

"But why me?" Dean looked into the eyes, his fear buried down deep within himself, "Why this town?"

The face backed up a bit, as if the question startled it. "Why not this town? Why not you? I heard you Dean, your confession to your brother. There was a lot of juicy detail in there. Your sins from the past years, each one laid out for me, each just as filthy as the next. I had a great deal of excitement when I heard you, it was a tad bit embarrassing I must say, my brothers thought me a fool for dancing the way that I did. You are blacker than the night itself, plagued with the sins of others, tainting your soul with the sins of today. You are veritable feasting ground, and I cannot wait to get started."

Dean opened his mouth to speak again before a black finger came up to the lips of the man, "Shh. No more speaking for now. Rest Dean, for tomorrow begins your redemption. You have one chance Dean, do not waste this gift."

The darkness consumed the beast, engulfing the white until the room was silent.

Dean woke the next morning, blanket over his body and a terrible pounding in his head. He had just enough warning to make it into the bathroom before emptying the contents of his stomach; as little as they were, they jubilantly made their reappearance. Leaning his head against the wall Dean groaned, his insides trying to turn themselves inside out and apparently doing a very good job at it too. It took a few minutes before Dean's stomach settled down enough for him to move to the sink, washing off his face and mouth, trying to rid himself of the taste of bile. He then walked back to his bed, shutting his eyes against the first rays of light that passed through his bedroom window, his headache lessening with the lack of light.

Dean woke for the second time that morning several hours later, the sun shinning directly into his room. He scrambled over, hissing against the burn, throwing the curtains shut. He stumbled in the darkness, trying to find his way back to the bathroom to get a drink of water. He managed to get the glass under that water after several tries, his wet hand a testament to it. He downed the glass, refilling it and taking it with him as he went back to the bed. He sat down heavily, rubbing his eyes with his free hand to get rid of some of the pain that insistently throbbed behind them. He took a drink from the glass then placed it on the side table only to find that something was in his way. Reaching out he took what ever it was in his free hand, placing the cup in the spot that the mystery item was in before.

Dean walked to the wall, moving his hand up and down looking for the light switch that he knew was there. Finding it Dean flipped it on, shutting his eyes before the light illuminated the room. He opened them slowly, making sure they could adjust so not to blind himself with another bout of searing pain. His eyes finally open Dean could see what had been resting on his side table.

It was another bag of cookies.

* * *

**A/N: And they are back to their proper lengths!**

**I just quickly want to say that the Germans are some of the coolest people I have ever had the ****privilege to be descended from. I mean, who thinks to put a pickle in a tree? Only a German. They are fantastic.**


	14. Lurking in the night

**A/N: I know it's short but I don't care right now. GOING TO GO SEE THE HOBBIT**

* * *

Dean took the bag in his hand, rolling his eyes as he walked out of his room and down the hall, heading to Sam's room. He knocked on the door once before swinging it open, seeing the room to be empty of life. Dean shut the door with a soft click, heading down the hallway again, looking for Sam. He found him down stairs, sitting in one of the high back chairs, a book open in his hands. Sam didn't notice when Dean walked in, his eyes glued on the text before him.

Dean walked right in front of Sam, dropping the bag into his lap. Sam jumped at that, tilting the book down so he could see what had just landed in his lap. He then looked up at Dean, his one eyebrow raised.

Dean had his arms crossed, motioning to the bag with one hand, "Very funny Sam."

Sam's eyebrow went even higher, the book shutting in his hands, "I am clearly missing something here. What did I do?"

Dean rolled his eyes again, nodding at the bag, "Leaving a bag of cookies beside my bed, clever."

Sam leveled Dean with a look, "Dean I didn't put them there."

"Well then who put them there Sam?" Dean asked the question before he thought about it, the look that Sam reciprocated with making Dean laugh. "You can't be serious. He's not real Sam!"

Sam opened the book again, reading as he said, "So who did then Dean?"

His cocky tone irked Dean more than it should have, making him snatch the book from Sam's grasp, "I think I'm looking at him."

"I didn't do it Dean!" Sam made a move to take the book from Dean, Dean raising the book above his head to keep it out of Sam's reach. Sam stood, trying to get the book back but Dean kept it just outside of his reach, not an easy task for someone who was three inches smaller. Sam finally gave up, "Why don't you believe me?"

Dean wasn't listening though, his eyes glued on the book in his hands. _The Holy Bible_ seemed to be rising off the cover, coming closer and closer to Dean. Memories of the night before came flooding back to him, every single detail magnified with a small layer of fear, words echoing in his mind as warning after warning played in his head. Dean stood petrified, his hand trembling.

Sam looked at him, concern slowly replacing illogical anger, "Dean? You okay?"

Dean's eyes never left the book, his voice soft, "Sam, we need to leave. Now."

Sam tired to catch Dean's gaze, worrying for him, "What is it Dean?"

Dean finally looked up; Sam had never seen him so sacred before. His eyes were wide, moving rapidly from corner to corner, searching for something that he just couldn't find, "He came for me last night Sam. He told me that I had one more chance. One more strike."

"Dean," Sam had no idea what Dean was talking about, he was being more cryptic than a politician, "What are you-"

"Black Peter Sam," Dean's eye finally stopped moving, landing on Sam, "He came to see me last night. He said that I had one more chance, just like the rest of them. I have one more or chance or else.

I'm next Sam. Black Peter's coming for me next."


	15. Running like a mouse in a cage

**A/N: I have no excuse for how short this is... it's kinda sad**

* * *

Sam and Dean packed in record time, piling their bags into the Impala as fast as they could. Sam still had a slight urge to stay behind and help fix the mess that he so faithfully believed that he made. He was sitting shotgun in the Impala before he knew it though, watching as house after house went by them, the decorations and festivities slowly fading off into the distance.

Sam could feel the tension in the car leaving, as the town became just a speck in the rearview mirror, becoming nothing more than a bad memory.

Dean drove for miles, the road empty, not a thing in sight except for a lone tree. It was a pine that was more dead than alive, the needles on its branches brown and dry. That was the reason that Sam noticed it, the only thing that broke the empty skyline. Sam's head turned as they drove by, watching the tree the entire time. He watched until it was out of sight once again, the silence in the car heavy.

They kept on driving, the scenery entirely the same. Not a thing in sight, just a little old pine tree. Sam had to look twice before he saw that it was the same tree, the one that they had passed twenty minutes ago.

"Dean?" Sam watched the tree, his stomach twisting at the sight.

"What Sam?" Dean kept his eyes on the road, focusing on where he was going.

"We already passed that tree."

The Impala screeched to a halt, Dean remained looking forward. He was silent before he abruptly hit the steering wheel, "Damn it!"

"We can't get out Dean." Sam spoke softly, his eyes still on the tree.

"I know that Sam." Dean let out a growl of frustration again, smacking his hand against the wheel.

"What are we going to do?" Sam turned to Dean, his face full of worry.

"I don't know Sam."

"Dean-"

"I said I don't know!"

They sat quietly for a few moments before Sam broke the silence, "If we go back, he's going to kill you."

Dean twisted his hand on the steering wheel, trying to make up his mind. It didn't take long as shortly after he threw the Impala into drive, making a u-turn and heading back to the town, determination written on his face.

"Not if we kill him first."


	16. Scrambling for its life

Dean pulled up before the library, throwing the Impala into park before walking out, the door creaking behind him. Sam followed suit, his door mimicking the same creak that Dean's had let out. Both looked around as they headed in, not a person in sight. The library was equally empty, each sound thrown around the vast space, putting Sam and Dean on edge.

Sam led Dean to the computers, sitting in the same one that he had used previously. The computer hummed to life, the light igniting the corner of the room. Dean pulled up a chair and sat down beside Sam, leaning forward so he could see the screen clearly.

Sam began his search again, starting with any stories he could find about Zwarte Piet, anything that would tell them how to kill one. There was nothing, absolutely nothing. It seemed that no one had ever had the need to kill on before, or had ever tried.

He was scrolling through a page when Dean suddenly said, "Stop. Go back."

Sam scrolled back up the screen, going until Dean said, "There."

Sam paused; looking at the paragraph that Dean had noticed.

_Although the legend of Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet is largely based off of the Christian religion, many belief that the real origins lie in generations before, trailing back to Norse legends of gods among men. _

_Stories have been told that state the Sinterklaas was based off of the Norse god Odin, connections drawn between the parallels of each man. Sinterklaas rides on a horse whose name varies from tale to tale, Odin rides on the back of his gray horse Sleipnir. Both of the men carry a staff though they are visually different. They are also seen with helpers, Odin with his black crows and Sinterklaas with his black helpers, both of which bring him news of the world._

_There are a few people who believe that Sinterklaas is in fact the modern version of Odin, the Christianized version of a god that they once worshipped._

"Well," Dean sat back a bit, finished reading the section, "Looks like we're trying to kill a god."

"Not a god," Sam pointed at the screen, "Just a gods henchman."

Dean leaned back in his chair, "Like that's going to make it any easier."

Sam hummed his agreement, focusing back to the computer, now trying to find ways to kill a Norse god. Sam reasoned that if it would kill a god, it would kill his helper. It made sense, didn't it?

Finding a way to kill a god was harder than Sam could have imagined. All he was able to find was the fact that Odin would live forever, the worlds ending the moment that he died, eaten by a great wolf. He was about to give up when he saw a small website at the bottom of the Google search page, one that you would never click on, one that looked like everything written on it would be made up by someone who still lived in their mothers basement surviving off of protein packs and energy drinks. But Sam was willing to try anything.

The site was clearly made by someone who had no idea what they were doing, the page a simple white with black type and nothing else. Sam scrolled through, skimming the page to see if there would be anything of value.

He froze on the one paragraph, his eyes running over the words, widening as they took it in.

_People say that there is only one way to kill Odin, but that's not true. Sure he's going to be eaten at the end of time by the big old wolf dude, but there's another way to kill that old bastard. I know a way, and no I am not telling you how I know, that's a secret asshat._

_So what you do is this: take a spear, doesn't matter what kind, Roman, Norse, Viking, who cares. All it needs is an iron tip and a wooden handle, preferably made out of oak, but again, not necessary. Then you douse that mother in wine, red and aged more than thirty years, the older the better. It doesn't matter what kind of wine either, just has to be red. Don't ask me why, I don't know._

_Next you've got to take that sucker and stick it in his heart. You don't hit it and you've got an extremely pissed off god on your hands and probably no head, he gets mad like that. _

_So after you've got that spear in his heart you've got to hang him. Yeah, hang him, like noose around his neck and hanging from the rafters. If you don't do this the big guy WILL NOT STAY DEAD. Once again I don't know why so don't ask. The guy is magical so he's a stubborn SOB and won't die easily. _

_SO remember: spear, wine, heart, and hang. Simple as that. Now go get him tiger, I'll be watching from the sidelines. Cowering._

"Dean!" Sam turned to look at his brother, who was currently leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, his chest moving up and down with shallow breaths. Sam shook his head and nudged the leg of Dean's chair, which was conveniently in the air making it very easy for him to tip Dean's chair backwards.

The look on Dean's face as his chair started falling back was priceless, his expression was pure shock, his arms failing, trying to find either balance or something to grab onto. He hit the ground, letting out an oomph as he landed. Sam couldn't hold his laugh back, snorting before it became full out hysteria. Dean shot him a death glare, one that could melt steel with the heat. Sam just kept on laughing, wiping a tear from his eye.

Dean righted his chair, grumbling as he said, "Bitch."

Sam chuckled, "Jerk."

Dean was still mad as he sat down in his chair, getting right back to what Sam had so rudely interrupted his catnap for, "What'd you find?"

Sam stared shutting the computer down as he said, "I know how to kill Odin, so it should work for Zwarte Piet too. He is a lesser god after all."

"Alright then, let's go." Dean got up from his chair, watching as Sam finished turning the monitor off.

They both moved to leave the library before Dean stopped, making Sam stutter to a halt behind him as not to collide with the wall of flesh that was before him. He turned and faced Sam, his face serious, "Okay, I just want to say this. It's not that I don't believe you or anything, but what if it is just a normal human who is fucking with these people's heads?"

"What are you saying Dean?" Sam tried to remain calming, telling himself that Dean was just being Dean. An annoying bastard.

"I just don't want to go running in trying to kill this thing with whatever madness you think might work. I just want to try killing it in a normal human fashion first."

"With what Dean? It's not like I have a gun in my back pocket and I'm pretty sure that you don't either." The sheepish look that Dean had on his face made Sam re-think his words, "Oh you have got to be kidding me."

"Well, not in my back pocket…"

"Dean!" Dean looked at his brother; the look of shock on his face was enough to make Dean laugh had he been in a different situation.

"I have to have one Sam! I would have been dead a long time ago if I didn't."

Sam, using one hand, rubbed his eyes, groaning a little bit. "Fine Dean, we'll shot the thing and then go from there. Okay?"

Dean smiled, heading out of the library, "Sounds good to me."

* * *

**A/N: WHooooO! Full length chapter! Points to me!**


	17. Deciding to stay and fight

Dean walked back to the Impala, looking around in habit before throwing open the trunk. He passed the bags to Sam who curiously looked on as his brother emptied the trunk. Dean looked around one more time, the street was clear. He bent into the trunk, fiddling with something that Sam couldn't see. He straightened up, pulling the bottom of the trunk open as he did so.

Sam's eyes widened, his mouth gaping. "Dean. Why do you have so many guns?"

The trunk was full, shotguns strapped to the lid, handhelds compartmentalized by power and size, automatics on the right, ammunition sitting next to it's corresponding gun. Each was clean and in perfect condition, lovingly taken care of since the moment they were purchased, legally or not.

Dean smiled down on them, the affection shinning in his eyes. Sam had never seen that kind of affection in Dean's eyes before, something he hoped deep down that he would be on the receiving end one day. Picking up one of the guns, a silver handgun complete with a pearl handle, Dean tucked it into the back of his jeans. He flipped his shirt down over top of it before reaching for another, a simple black revolver that Sam wouldn't be able to name if his life depended on it. He held out to him, pushing it towards Sam when he didn't make a move to take it.

"No Dean, I can't. I don't know who to shoot a gun!" Sam tried to avoid the weapon that Dean was waving before his face, refusing to take it.

"Come on Sam, it's not that hard. Take the safety off; cock it, point and shoot. Easy." Dean walked around Sam and put the gun in the back of his jeans for him, ignoring the squeak that came out of him. "If it'll make you feel better we can practice, if you want." Dean leaned around Sam's shoulder, trying to see his face. When Sam didn't reply Dean threw the back of Sam's coat over the weapon, moving back to the Impala, "Good. It's settled then."

Dean closed the lid in the trunk, making sure it was locked before taking the bags from Sam's arms and throwing them back in the vehicle. He closed the trunk with a firm push, patting it once tenderly. He walked to the driver's seat, pausing before getting in. "Well? You coming?"

Sam walked to the passenger's side, sliding in with a little difficulty before he said, "Where are we going?"

"To the woods. Can't have you accidently shooting someone." Dean turned the key, turning over the engine with a loud rumble, the engine purring as he drove off.

It took several minutes to get to the outskirts of town, Dean pulling off to the side of the road far enough away that they couldn't cause any damage by a stray shot. Sam followed Dean, heading about half a mile into the forest to a clearing that would be perfect for target practice; it was about ten yards wide and twenty deep, some trees closer to fifty away, giving Sam a range of targets to try and hit.

Dean positioned Sam at the edge of the clearing, making him face one of the trees that was only twenty yards away, giving him one of the easy ones first.

"Alright," Dean had his hands on Sam's shoulder, moving him into the right position, "Feet staggered, it'll give you a better stance and make you harder to move. You'll be balanced so you won't take a step when the kick back hits you. Both hands on the gun, you'll need it for stability. It's your first time so you won't have complete control of the gun, it'll most likely move to much as you don't have experience with how much it'll buck in your hands. Don't lock your elbows either. It'll hurt like a mother when the recoil goes through your arm. Raise the gun to eye level so you can see where you are shooting and so you can also judge the corrections that you'll have to make later. Expect to hit what you are shooting at; it's psychological too. And remember to breathe, I don't want you passing out on me." Dean had been moving Sam as he spoke, correcting his stance and grip, making sure that he was ready.

Taking a step back Dean looked Sam over, nodding when he deemed him ready. Walking behind Sam, not wanting to be in his line of sight what so ever he said, "Okay. Now take the safety off, the little switch on the side of the gun. Pull back the top, that loads the gun, letting you shoot of multiple rounds one after the other without having to cock it every single time. Put your one hand on the base of the grip, this will give you better control. Finger on the trigger. This one isn't a hair trigger so you can squeeze it a bit without it going off right away. Now raise it to your sight line, aim for your target and shoot. Let your arm move with the gun, don't fight it; you'll just hurt yourself. And no matter what you do, don't touch the barrel after; it's going to be really hot."

Sam nodded, taking a deep breath before raising the gun, aiming at the tree that was directly before him, letting it go before he squeezed the trigger. The noise was deafening, making Sam startle just a bit. The kick back wasn't as bad as Dean made it out to be, his tips helping him stay away from wrenching his arm socket in the wrong direction. What surprised him more was the fact that he hit the tree, dead center too.

Dean let out a whistle, patting Sam on his shoulder, "Not bad Sammy. Must run in the family."

Sam lowered the gun, smiling a bit at his brothers praise, "It's Sam."

Dean shrugged, "Whatever. Now try for that tree." Dean pointed to one of the ones that were fifty yards away, Sam raising the gun, more confident in himself as he let another shot ring out through the glade. He didn't hit the tree dead center, but he did hit it.

Dean laughed a bit, "Well, I guess you don't need anymore help from me."

Sam just smiled.

* * *

The boys were heading back to the Impala when Sam stopped, bending over to pick up a decent sized branch that was lying on the forest floor. Taking in his hand he looked it over, deeming it a proper size.

Dean looked back at his brother, "Sam, what are you doing?"

Sam looked at Dean, feeling a little ridiculous, "I've got to make a spear."

Dean shook his head, looking down at the ground as he said, "Why didn't you just tell me Sammy?"

Sam shrugged, "Didn't think you'd have a spear lying around. But you probably do, don't you?" Sam didn't even try to act surprised any more. There was no point.

Dean grinned, obviously proud of the fact.

"Why do you have a spear Dean? No, wait, I don't want to know."

Dean turned and walked to the Impala, muttering, "Cause Dad's a psycho bastard."

Sam walked after him, "You got rope too? How about a bottle of red wine?"

Dean stopped at the driver door, throwing Sam a 'are you kidding me?' look. "Course I've got rope, but red wine? Dude, I'm not a fucking chick."

Sam chuckled, "Of course you're not."

Dean glared at him, "Bitch."

Sam smirked back, "Jerk."


	18. Taking back the black

**A/N: Okay, two quick things. Chapters are going to be shorter now, hope that's okay.**

**Secondly, I know why some of you choose to read this story in the first place so I am rewarding you for putting up with my lack of typical M stuff. It's not anything worth getting excited over, so don't be. **

**The views and opinions of the characters are not portrayed by the author. **

**And on with the story...**

* * *

Trying to find a place that was abandoned and where there wasn't anything that could blow up if it was shot, which cut out all abandoned warehouses. This left places within the town, something that Dean had wanted to avoid at all costs. This left them with an abandoned house on the edge of town, a simple two story thing, long ago left to the weather as it appeared to be falling apart at the seams. Dean couldn't remember seeing it on the way in or out, but it was better than nothing.

Dean walked around the house several times, finding where each door lead, where the walls were the weakest, where each hallway lead, where all the dead ends were. He found out there was also a basement, it was empty, the walls made out of pure concrete, three feet thick if Dean was guessing. It would be the best place for Dean to take on the demon face to face if it came down to that.

Dean walked back to the ground floor; Sam was wandering the house also, looking for exactly the same things that Dean had been looking for. They met in the largest room in the house, one that someone would make into the living room. The boys said nothing, not needing to as Dean began to make traps to place all over the house. Simple ones that would keep an average human being in place long enough for either of them to show up. Sam was working on tying the nooses, each one made from a length of rope, ten separate ones, just to be safe. If these things truly were as powerful as Sam believed them to be they might have a few tricks up their sleeves as well.

Dean walked out of the room several minutes later, Sam following him to help set up what ever Dean had in mind. They walked around the house placing trip wire in each doorway, a grenade at each entrance and exit. In the basement Dean placed a smoke grenade in each corner of the room, a wire at the base of the stairs would set them off when tripped. There where a couple of snares placed in random spots, when trigged they would capture whatever was in the loop and pull it to the ceiling. It was a simple hunting trick that worked incredibly well.

Dean even opened up the walls, using the wires he found to create a vulgar form of razor wire, fraying it so little edges of the wire stuck up, cutting into whomever was unfortunate to walk into it. This was placed across the hallways in the darkest areas so it would be harder to see.

Finally Dean placed extra ammunition in safe locations, holes in walls, loose floorboards, even in the ceiling. Anywhere it wouldn't be set off in a freak explosion. Once everything was set Sam and Dean headed back into the living room, placing more of the wire across the wide doorway, locking themselves in and the monsters out.

Looking over the wire one more time Dean was satisfied that it would work, walking over to the opposite wall and sitting against it. He had a sawed off shotgun in his hand, rounds in his pockets and his handgun pressing against his back. Sam had the revolver in his hand, ammunition also in his pocket. Dean wouldn't give him a shotgun and Sam didn't complain. The spears were leaning against the wall, each soaked in wine and waiting to be grabbed. Each brother he a small vile of wine in their pocket as well, not knowing if it would have to be re-applied or not.

Dean sat waiting as Sam paced, walking the width of the room several times before sitting down next to Dean, knees to his chest, hands lying limply across them. Dean could tell that Sam was nervous; he was too the first time that he went with John on what he liked to call a 'hunt'. He had been fourteen, sent out to make sure that John came back in one piece. It was also the first time he shot a gun and the first time that he killed a man.

Sam snapped Dean out of the memory, "How long do you think we'll have to wait for?"

"I don't know Sam. Ten minutes, an hour, days. Who knows?" Dean was staring at the entrance before him, waiting for the moment something showed.

"Is there anything that we can do to make it come faster?"

"Sure Sam." Dean was still looking at the door.

"Okay, what?"

Dean didn't know why he did it, but he was sure it would work. Grabbing Sam's face Dean laid one on him, waiting a few seconds before pulling back to see the look of complete and utter shock on Sam's face. "What the HELL was that for!"

Dean shrugged, looking back at the door, "You wanted him to come, and so I gave him something worth coming for. Incest, biggest frowned upon sin in that fucking book."

Sam didn't have time to reply before an explosion rocked the house, debris flying down the hallway. Dean smiled. They were here.


	19. Carving out its heart

**A/N: Look! Look! A longer chapter! **

* * *

Dean shifted the shotgun in his hand, letting it sit in his left while his right reached for the gun in his belt. He kept it behind his back though, hand resting on the handle for the moment that he had to pull it out.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, they were slow, pauses in between. Dean could only assume that he was looking for them, sticking his head into each doorway, scanning the area for the sinner. The steps came closer, each one sounding more and more like gunfire, a miniature explosion going off in time with Dean's heartbeat, the pounding ricocheting in his ears. He could hear Sam breathing beside him, each shaky breath that he took and strained exhale that he released. He was proud of his brother, most people who have fled by now, running away and never looking back.

The footsteps stopped right before the door, the silence far too loud. Dean stood, Sam scrambling to his feet after his brother. Dean turned his body so that his chest was facing the wall, his left shoulder to the doorway. This is what his father taught him, never give the enemy an open target, you've got to make it as difficult for them to kill you as possible.

"Oh Dean, Dean. I thought you were smarter than that. I warned you did I not? Most people pay heed to those warnings, but I can see you didn't. Why didn't you Dean? Did you just miss me that much?" The voice was beyond Dean's sight, hidden behind the plaster and drywall.

"Why don't you come ask me that face to face, or are you too scared?" Dean squeezed the shotgun, readjusting his feet slightly.

"Afraid of you? A human of very insignificant proportions? Please, being afraid of you would be like being afraid of a child with a stick. Pointless and depressing." The voice was light, humor edging the words, laughing at Dean.

"Then why are you hiding? Come out you son-of-a-bitch." Dean was growling now, finger itching to pull the trigger.

Dean waited for the creature to show its face, ready for the instant that he had a shot. When there was no movement that he could see Dean raised the shotgun, putting a round into the wall, paint and plaster exploding into the room making Sam flinch and cover his head. When he raised it he could see Dean still standing there, gun lowered and yelling into the hallway.

"Come out and face me like a man!"

And slow tisking come from behind the boys, both of them spinning around with wide eyes, "Now Dean, how could I possibly face you like a man when I clearly am not one?"

This time Dean raised his silver beauty, bringing it up to the beasts eyes, pointing it between both of them, the point blank shot making him smile, "Let's see you die like one."

The shot rang out, the force of it making Deans arm snap up before he let it rest on his side, the gun kept away from his leg, the heat radiating through his jeans. The man's forehead erupted, a small hole between his eye sockets, hidden by the darkness of his skin, with one the size of a mandarin in the back of his head. There was a small trail of blood flowing from the open wound, barely anything compared to the bone, blood, and brain matter that artfully covered the wall behind him.

The man raised a hand to the back of his head, placing his fingers inside the new addition to his skull. Sam grimaced as he heard the squish, accompanied by the grey matter that fell to the ground. The man brought his hand back down, his eyes burning into Dean, changing from white to red, glowing in the dark. His hand was covered in blood, dripping as he raised it to look at. "Now that, was completely illogical."

His eyes snapped to Dean, resting on his for just long enough to make Dean feel the first grip of fear in his heart. The things hand snapped out, gripping Dean around the throat, nearly breaking his trachea, squeezing hard enough to be on the verge but not crossing the line. He raised Dean from the floor, his feet hanging inches above the hardwood. Dean hands automatically went to the things', pulling up against them trying to relieve some of the tension from his throat. His fingers were biting into the black skin beneath them, breaking through, making red rise to the surface. Dean's eyes rolled, his hands slowly going lax.

On the verge of passing out, his vision all but blank, Dean could hear the thing hissing at him, "I am going to enjoy taking your punishment out of your flesh."

It was the sudden lack of pressure on his throat that reminded Dean to breathe again, his breath shallow as his body remembered how to inhale. The first breath he took caused his body to convulse into a fit of coughing, the air burning against his bruised windpipe. His vision slowly came back and he got the shock of his life. Standing above the fallen man was Sam, his eyes wide and body shaking. The creature had one of the spears sticking through his chest, the tip resting on the floor, blood flowing down it to begin forming a pool.

"Sam…" Dean croaked out, coughing once again, "Noose…"

Sam was still in a phase as he wrapped the noose around the things neck, swinging one end of the rope over the rafters. He pulled on the rope, heaving the body into the air, the spear swinging back and forth with every movement that the body made. Dean didn't see how Sam was able to tie the rope in order to keep the body hanging off the ground, as his throat just wouldn't leave him alone.

His eyes were shut from the force of the coughs racking his body so he didn't see Sam, but he could hear him. The wrenching sound coming from his general direction told Dean that Sam just threw up. The smell hit him a few seconds later, Dean grimacing against it.

They were quite a scene, Dean lying on the ground trying to breath and Sam in the far corner of the room, dry heaving and trying to think of anything other than what he just did.

Not that Dean would ever admit it, but he was proud of his brother. He had just saved his life after all. Dean rolled over, smiling at Sam, "We did it Sammy. It's over."

Sam let out a sigh, the tension leaving his body. He smiled back at Dean, his face full of relief.

But as all things work when it comes to the Winchesters, they spoke far too soon. Several sets of footsteps echoed down the hall, moving far faster than the one before. They came quickly, voices bouncing off the wall, shouts for their fallen brother. Dean couldn't tell by the sound, but if he had to guess, he would say there were more than four people coming down the hall.

Dean's eyes snapped to Sam, both of them sharing the same dread.

"Shit."


	20. And watching it beat

Dean ignored the burning in his throat as he scrambled to his feet, blood rushing from his head forcing him to stay still for just a second so he wouldn't pass out. Once he was able to move without the threat of passing out Dean grabbed he last spear on the wall, tying it to his back with four of the ropes that were left over. As he was fixing the knots he asked, "How many are there Sam?"

Sam was watching Dean, his mind trying to catch up to the situation that was swirling around him, "I don't know."

Dean stopped tying, his eyes going to his brother and voice stern, "How many Sam?"

"I don't know Dean! Anywhere between five and eight. There was no set number…" Sam was in a state of panic, everything happening far to fast.

"What is it Sam? Five or eight?" Dean was angry now. How was he supposed to kill these things if he didn't know how many of them he was looking for?

Before Sam had the chance to reply there came a frightful banging from the other side of the wall, the entire foundation shaking from the force of each blow. Dean faced the wall, watching the wall pulse with each strike. Pulling out a knife, the same one that he used to fray the wires that were lining the door, he started sawing through them, breaking one and moving on to the next.

"What are you doing?" Sam's voice was higher than normal, squeaking just a tiny bit.

"Getting out. I'd rather have a way to escape than be stuck in here with all of them, how ever many there are." Dean continued sawing, each wire snapping after a few quick motions. Sam remained motionless until the last wire snapped, clearing the doorway for the boys to leave. The pounding on the wall finally came to a breaking point when the plaster gave way, bursting to the inside of the room. Dean took that was his queue to leave, rushing out the door and yelling, "Over here fugly! Come and get me!"

There were seven of them, each one turning to look at Dean with the same glowing red eyes. Six of them broke off from the pack and rushed towards Dean, making him run down the hallway and out of Sam's sight. The last one stayed, walking through the hole in the wall, taunting Sam as it did so.

"The youngest Winchester stays to fight. You know Sam; you've done nothing wrong, blameless, guiltless, spotless. The better of the brothers, the perfect son, doing what his mother wanted, being the independent son his father never knew that he wanted. You are the prime example Sam, what everyone should strive to be. Killing you would make me most unhappy. Come out Sam; don't make this harder than it already is. You come and now and I'll let you go. It's your brother that we want. Leave him to us and you can go free, leave this town and go to your parents, forget that you ever had a brother and live your life the way that you wanted, the way you were before that mad man came stumbling into your life. Leave and be free of him, forever." The man was walking around the room, searching the shadows for Sam, his eyes scanning the room, digging deep into the corners.

As he was walking into the room, Sam had quickly pulled the spear out of the hanging body, moving into the farthest corner of the room. He waited, making sure that he was unseen before he made a move. The things back was turned to him, giving Sam a perfect opportunity that he took.

Making one quick calculated jab Sam aimed for the things heart, and missed. The creature roared, it's head rolling, startling Sam. He pulled the spear back out, and ducked. It was a good thing that he did too as the monster spun, it's arm swinging around, trying to grab whatever was behind it. From Sam's kneeling position he tried the spear one more time, hitting the heart right on this time.

The creature fell like a rock, dead instantly. Sam let out a nervous chuckle, his laughter helping his relax. Looking from the body to the roof he sighed, picking up the rope and putting it around the things neck, lugging it up muttering the entire time.

* * *

Dean ran down the hallway, turning corners sharply and going through the maze of rooms. He could hear the footsteps of seven people thundering after him, slowly fading farther and farther into the distance. Once he was sure that they were far enough behind him Dean turned into a bedroom, sliding beside the doorframe, pressing his body as far into the wall as it would go.

He waited as the footsteps went by him, slower than they were before but still rushing by. Dean waiting a few more seconds, having only seen five go by. The last one walked by, scanning the halls and the rooms adjoined to make sure that Dean didn't do exactly what he just had.

Its head poked into the room, the red eyes illuminating the barest of space around its face. Dean waited, counting to three inside his head before grabbing the body, pulling it into the blackness with him.

Dean made quick work of him, stabbing him through the heart quickly, the body hitting the floor with a hard thud. He strung the body up the same way his brother did, trying to figure out how to tie the knot in the same way that his brother did.

He was holding the rope in his hand, using his body weight to keep the black form in the air when he noticed a faint glow of red on the body that he was facing. The breath that huffed out on the back of his neck making his blood go cold.

There was one right behind him.


	21. With a desperate cry

Dean went to move for the spear that was still lodged above his head, dangling inches above it.

"Don't even think about it." The voice made Dean stop, the rope still in one hand, the other hanging in the air, half way to the wooden shaft that would have saved his life. He let it drop, coming to rest on the side of his leg.

"Good. Wouldn't have wanted to do this the hard way." This one's voice was different from the others, hissing out the 's' of each word as if they burned him or tasted bad on his tongue.

Dean stiffened when he felt something wet on the back of his neck licking from the base to his hair line, the thing groaning as it said, "I wonder what you taste like, humans. I've always been the one to grind up the children, make them into cookies, but I never got a taste test. You must be delicious, the screamers always are, the ones with the will to live. You wouldn't believe some of the fighters that I got to handle, best batches came out of those ones. You're a fighter, and aged too. I wonder, are human like wine? Getting better with age, or are you more like bread, best fresh out of the over?"

Dean didn't speak, his fist clenching at his side over and over again. The thing paid no attention to that, shifting behind Dean one more time, "Let's find out shall we?"

A scream burst from Dean's mouth, the things teeth digging into the side of his neck right beside his jugular vein. Without even thinking Dean spun around, his fist coming up to meet the creatures face. Dean caught it by surprise, making it stumble back a few steps. Dean heard the body behind him hit the floor but couldn't find a reason to care at the moment.

The things hand went up to it's left cheek, touching the broken skin that it found there. He was quite a sight, eyes red, cheek broken, blood dripping down it's jaws; it was animalistic, a wolf in human flesh. His eyes rose to Dean, his lips drawing back in a snarl. Dean had barely enough time to brace himself before the thing lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. Dean landed on his back hard, knocking the wind out of him. He caught his breath quickly though, holding the snarling face as far away from his as possible.

Dean turned, checking the area around him quickly. They had landed beside the fallen body, the spear still stuck in its heart. Using one hand, placing the other underneath the creatures jaw line, Dean used the one to grab the wooden handle, pulling it from the body and replacing it into the one above him. The creature stilled, collapsing onto top of Dean.

Looking down at the body on him Dean let his head fall back, grunting out a ' Great'.

* * *

Once the body was hanging, identical to its brother, Sam left the room, starting his search for Dean. He walked slowly, taking the time to sweep over every inch of ground that he walked over, careful not to miss a thing. Every time that he stuck his head into a doorway he whispered, "Dean?" When there was no reply he would move on, going to the next part of the house.

He was on the second floor when he finally got a response, a faint 'Here' echoing out to him. Sam entered the room, making sure that there was no one else there. He saw a body lying in the middle of the room, a spear stuck through its heart. Sam rushed over to its side, rolling the body over so that he could see its face. The head turned, Dean whispering faintly out to Sam, "Help me."

Sam nodded, looking at the wound in his chest. The spear went through his entire body, a clear hole from the front of Dean's chest to the back. Sam held his brother close, resting his head against his leg, tears lining his eyes.

"Sam…" Deans voices was shallow, his eyes slowly sliding shut.

"Dean, Dean! Keep your eyes on me okay? You're going to be fine," Sam shook him slightly, trying to make Dean's eyes open again.

"Sammy!" Sam's head snapped up, Dean's call coming from outside of the room. He looked back down at the body in his hands, the form slowly shifting back into a man that was entirely black.

Sam scrambled away from the body, grabbing the spear and quickly putting it into the torso of the body that was no longer his brother. Sam sat back, his heart racing, blood rushing through his ears.

Sam was so focused on the body before him he didn't hear the one coming up behind him, a hard whack on the back of his head making him black out.

* * *

Dean walked through the house, having just strung the two bodies up, using the other weight to cause the other to remain in the air. He walked around, calling Sam's name out as he did.

He covered the entire house, terror heightening with each empty room that he found. He scoured the house three times before he let the fear take over, his heart racing.

"SAM!"

* * *

**A/N: Okay guys, I want your thoughts on this. Character death, yea or nay? **


	22. And a whimper of pain

**A/N: I acknowledge that the council has made a ****decision, but as it's a stupid ass decision I have elected to ignore it.**

* * *

Sam blinked slowly, groaning against the pain in his head. He was in the basement, tied to a chair in the center of the room. From what he could see he was alone, but Sam knew better than to believe that. They were everywhere, even if he couldn't see them.

Sam let his head roll on his shoulders, to tired and dizzy to keep it upright. He let it fall forward, resting his chin on his sternum. Sam's eyes slowly slid shut, his eyelids just to heavy to remain open.

"Ah, ah, ah. Don't do that. I want you wide awake for the moment your brother walks down those stairs. I want you to watch the life leave his eyes." A hand rested on Sam's shoulder as one of the creatures walked around him, standing before Sam. He took Sam's chin in his hand, forcing the boy to look at him, "There is nothing more satisfying in the world than watching those who are evil get what they deserve. You can compare the feeling to when you open that present that you always wanting on Christmas day. The sudden rush of adrenaline and the thrill as you rip back the paper, the sheer joy when you see the gift for the first time. That is but a mere fraction of what I feel every time I see the filth of the earth destroyed."

The creature let go of Sam's face, letting his head drop back down to his chest, "But you wouldn't understand. You believe that I am the monster, the thing that children should be afraid of at night, the creature hiding in their closet. What you really should be afraid of are the people that you walk past in the streets. They are the real evil in the world, unadulterated, pure, raw corruption. I have seen the inside of mans mind, oh the things that I have seen. Have you ever looked into the gates of Hell? I have and they are nothing compared to man. Man is creative, far beyond anything that God in all his majesty could have ever made. They have strayed so far away that there is not a single ounce of goodness left in them. If given the choice man would destroy each other in the most violent and gruesome ways possible. Tearing them apart limb from limb without a thought. You have seen this, learned of it, read it in those books that you love so very much. There have been countless tales of the brutality of mankind and yet you are still allowed to thrive and take over the world.

That is why I am here, to make sure that no one has the chance to become something like that again, going from town to town, ridding them of the filth, of the maggots, the festering wounds that plague humanity. I am the purge, the cleansing that the world needs and I am never going to stop. No one can stop me."

* * *

Dean stood before the staircase, staring into the darkness below him. He didn't know what stopped him but he couldn't make himself take the first step down those rickety pieces of wood. He kept telling himself that Sam was down there and that he needed him, retelling himself time and time again that it was his duty as a big brother, he had to look after the idiot, there was no one else to do it.

The first step that he took seemed to break the spell, each step becoming easier as he slowly went down into the depths of the house, his gun held out before him, spear once again tied to his back.

"Sam?" He glanced around the room, his gun going everywhere that his eyes went.

There was a frenzied grunting coming from the center of the room just beyond his vision. Dean turned in the direction of the noise, slowly moving forward as he repeated, "Sam?"

Sam finally came into his vision, bond and gagged to a sturdy wooden chair, his eyes wide, head shaking furiously back and forth. Dean barely had time to react to the two bodies leaping from the shadows, one from his left and one from his right.

They both hit Dean with enough force to knock him to the ground, gun flying into the darkness. One held him down while the other, with a joyous grin, beat him, punches landing on his torso and face, the odd foot crunching his arms and legs. Dean cried out, feeling his wrist crunching under the things heel.

"Enough." The voice was commanding, making the one ceased his beating instantly, the other letting go of Dean, both backing off of their prey with malicious grins. The owner of the voice walked into the faint light that Dean was lying in.

This man was far larger than any of the others, easily twice their size, towering over his brothers, his head bent as not to hit the ceiling. His eyes glowed brighter than the rest, one gold and one silver. He walked towards Dean, crouching down so he was closer to the writhing human on the floor. With one hand he stroked the side of Dean's face, a thumb tracing the beginnings of a terrible black eye.

The creature sighed, as if the situation was something that distressed him, "Oh Dean, things didn't have to come to this. All we wanted was you; it was simple, straightforward. You didn't have to go and complicate things, drag your innocent brother into this. Now look where we are. You have murdered five of my brothers and you have brought suffering and pain to yours. You have indeed brought this upon yourself; I have not seen such a deserving human in such a long time. You deserve to know that your brother will watch you die, slowly, painfully, as sinners earn with each strike they cast on themselves, then die in the same manner, the sins of the brother passed on to the next.

But this doesn't have to happen Dean, if you give up now, we will take you away, let your brother go free. You refuse and I shall torture your brother before your helpless eyes until you beg for us to take you in his place. Once he is on the brink of death we shall, doing the same to you, making sure that he watches every single drop of crimson blood drip from your skin. Once you are broken we shall kill you, leaving your brother for dead. If he survives he is stronger than most, the lucky of the few. The choice is up to you Dean. Your brothers life depends on you now."

Dean listened, tears starting to line his eyes. Shifting his gaze to Sam he nodded, the words slipping out of his mouth, "Take me. Do what you want, just don't touch another hair on his head."

Sam began struggling again, the words that he was trying to say muffled by the gag. The chair rocked back and forth on the cement floor, finally tipping over on its side, Sam hitting hard, his collarbone breaking under the impact.

His eyes met Dean's, begging for him to change his mind. Dean could only hold his gaze for a few seconds before looking away, the guilt filling up his chest.

"Take him away," the largest one spoke again, the two smaller ones taking Dean roughly up the stairs, practically dragging him up each step, Dean's legs beating against the wooden steps.

The larger one stayed with Sam, waiting until Dean was out of his sight before turning to him. He came close to Sam, one hand going to the back of his neck, "I am sorry Sam, but you know that I can not let you live. I must purge the earth of filth in its entirety and you have been around your brother for far too long."

* * *

**A/N 2: Please, just trust me on this okay?**


	23. The day ends bloody

Dean could hear every word that the thing said, his eyes widening and heart pounding, "No! Sam!"

He started pulling against the creatures holding him, adrenaline pumping through his system. He managed to get one of his arms out of the things grip, using it to shove the other one off of him. He scrambled for the open door, trying him damndest to get back down. The creatures were not going to let him go that easily though, one latching himself to Dean's back, arms wrapping around his torso, pinning Dean's arms uselessly to his sides. He lifted Dean from the ground, walking backwards towards the outside door. Dean kicked and struggled; doing practically anything that he could to get away from these things. His feet struck the monster time and time again but it was as effective as kicking a mountain, getting you absolutely nowhere and a stubbed toe.

The second walked around Dean, trying to grab his feet to make the load easier on his brother. As the one came close Dean brought his feet up, planting them firmly on the chest before him and pushed, making the one fall to his back, releasing Dean. The other was no so lucky, stumbling backwards and falling down the stairs, hitting the bottom with a sickening crunch. Dean got to his feet quickly, the adrenaline flowing through his system numbing him to the pain of his beating.

He flew down the stairs, stopping abruptly at the bottom. The body had tripped the wire that he had placed at the bottom of the stairs, making the smoke grenades in the corners go off. The basement was so full of the grey haze that Dean could barely see two inches in front of him. He knelt beside the body on the floor; it was gently stirring, its head rotating back into its original position, bones grinding into place. Dean hurriedly took the spear that remarkably stayed on his back, the end broken off at a sharp point. He pierced it through the body, blood spurting out of the wound in a powerful gush, coating half of Dean's face, mixing with the blood that was already there.

Take a rope from around his waist he slung the noose around his neck, dragging the body to the underside of the stairs. Dean wrapped the rope over the highest step, hauling the body up and securing it in the air by knotting the rope under its arms. Dean was still under the stairs when a howl of pain erupted from the basement. It was a cry of true suffering, animal and raw.

Dean peaked around the stairs, unsure as to why he did, as he couldn't see anything any way. He slipping behind the wooden planks again as he heard footsteps coming down from the floor above. The second one was following him into the basement, quite sobs following after him, "Come out Dean! I'll just snap your neck and be done with it! I want it to be over! One more brother, you've killed another one. Why Dean? How can you justify killing us, killing all those other people? Self-defense? That's the liar's way out, the easy answer when you don't want to face your inner demons. You are the same as us Dean. Killing the monsters of the world, you just think that because you are human that it makes you in the right. Only humans can kill humans, you get away with it enough to prove that as a fact. Is that what makes you so righteous? You're not the bad guy, you just kill them, so that makes you high and mighty all of a sudden doesn't it?"

Dean could hear the sadness in his voice, the pain going through each word. At that moment there was no difference between him and any other human on the planet trying to figure out why.

"COME OUT!" The yell reverberated around the room, bouncing off the walls and making Dean jump.

Turning around Dean pulled the spear from the body behind him, keeping it by his side as he walked out from behind the stairs. He tried to walk as silently as he could, his shoes whispers against the cool cement floor.

The thing was still yelling for him, stomping around the basement looking for Dean. It was easy enough for Dean to find him; he was making enough noise to wake the dead.

Slipping up behind the man Dean crouched down, bringing himself down below its line of sight. It had no chance; the spear pierced its heart without any hesitation. The thing coughed, blood oozing out of its mouth before falling face first to the floor, the tip of the spear breaking off under the body. Dean made a movement to the body, one hand going for one of the ropes.

"That is quite enough Dean," It was the tall one from earlier, the one whom Dean had heard threaten Sam.

The smoke in the room dissipated giving Dean a clear view of what he never wanted to see. Sam was still in the chair, the things hand cradling the back of his head. He was holding it up, moving it wherever he wanted.

"Hello again Dean, funny how we keep on meeting like this," the thing looked down at Sam, a smile coming to its face, "You know that I hold the ace of spades don't you Dean? It doesn't matter that you claim that you hate your brother; you are still going to beg to die in his place no matter what. That's what I find respectable about you, your willingness to die for family," Silver and Gold snapped up to Dean, teeth flashing as it sneered, "And I would have done the same for mine. Do you know the pain for watching your family die around you while some psycho strings them up from the rafters? I am not going to let you do it to one more of my family Dean. You took them all away from me, I won't let you take him too."

* * *

**A/N: This is taking a lot longer than I thought it would...**


	24. Light fading into the distance

While the massive creature was talk Dean was able to nudge the tip of the spear out from under the body by his feet, kicking it over to Sam. It hit the leg of the chair, bouncing under the wooden frame. Sam shot Dean a face, one that Dean would label in his mind to be a 'Bitch-face'. Dean just shrugged a bit, as if to say, 'What do you expect from me?'.

Dean didn't get to see Sam's response as he suddenly found himself ducking to avoid a massive hand swiping for his head. There was nothing for him to do other than try and avoid the thing; he had suddenly found himself very spear-less and helpless.

People say that the bigger they are the easier it is to avoid them, but Dean found that statement to be false as he barely managed to dodge a swipe at his mid-section. He realized that he was being backed into a corner after a while; the jabs and grabs were far too precise to be out of fury. This thing had a plan and Dean didn't. He was going to have to think of something quick if he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders.

The sight would have been quite humorous to anyone looking in on the situation, Dean hopping back and forth in the room, trying not to get caught in a corner by a giant black man.

The only person who would have been looking at the event was Sam, but he wasn't paying attention to his older brother, he was currently trying to figure out how to get out of the chair. His arms were bound behind him at the wrist but not attached to the chair itself; his legs were free also, left to move wherever he wanted them to. Placing his feet on the outside of the chair, planting them firmly on the cement below him, Sam pushed up, his arms protesting against the movement. He stood, his arms getting pulled in the wrong direction but slipping off of the chair. Sam looked down at the chair, letting out a surprised huff, not believing that it was that simple. Pushing the chair out of the way Sam sat down on the floor, taking the spearhead in his hand and sawing through the rope binding his hands together. The iron was sharp enough to eat through the fibers in two seconds flat.

Once his hand were free Sam scrambled to his feet, spearhead in hand. He watched as Dean avoided another blow that was aimed for his chest. The giant's hand went right through the banister, fragments flying in every direction. One of them flew right at Sam, making him duck to avoid a chunk of wood hitting him in the forehead.

"Sam? A little help here!" Dean was getting dizzy, his head growing lighter by the minute. His reaction time was slowing down too, each strike coming closer and closer to hitting him. Dean ducked, the massive hand hitting the wall where his head was a moment before, the cement giving out under the force of the blow.

Sam grabbed the piece of wood from the ground, forcing the tip into the shard, creating a very vulgar spear. He looked at it, testing to see if it would fall apart or remain together before going to his brother's aid. Dean had finally been backed into a corner, eyes wide and looking around for anyway to get out. "Any time now Sam!"

Sam stood behind the monster, trying to figure out how to stab it; its chest was far to high for even him to reach. Sam went back to the chair, placing it behind the thing and climbing on top. He was now at the proper level to get the tip of the weapon in line with his heart. Sam took a deep breath, taking the wood in both hands and raising it above his head, putting his body weight behind his blow.

The spear hardly went through the things chest, barely nicking its heart. It must have been enough as the creature stuttered, taking a step forward before turning to Sam, looking down slightly at the human below him. "Why?"

Sam just looked at it, not really knowing how to answer. He didn't have much time to think about it before the thing fell like a tree; Dean and Sam watching him fall. They both looked at the body for a few seconds, stunned that they were actually able to kill him.

Sam's attention was taken away from the body and to Dean when his brother stumbled, catching himself on the wall. "Dean?"

Dean waved Sam off, "I'm fine Sam, just get them hanging."

Sam nodded, keeping one eye on his brother as he hung the smaller one. The larger one was the problem, Sam having to jump off the stairs to even get the body in the air.

The instant the body left the floor the house shuddered making Sam look around in a panic. Nothing occurred that Sam could see would affect them so he tied the body in the air, moving to help Dean out of the house. He put his older brothers arm around his shoulder, ignoring his protests that he was fine and that he didn't need Sam's help.

He was able to get Dean into the car, heading into town to leave the memory behind them. They were heading through Town Square when Sam noticed something strange going on. People were walking into the streets, faces completely confused and rubbing their heads. Sam pulled over by the bed and breakfast, getting out of the car and entering the house. Elizabeth was standing behind the desk, looking down at something that she was writing in. Her head rose when she heard the jingle of the bell, a smile crossing her face. "Why hello there! How can I help you today?"

Sam just smiled, chuckling a bit, "Nothing, everything is fine." He left, shutting the door on a slightly confused Elizabeth.

He was walking down to the Impala when he caught glance of Dean. He was lying down on the seat, eyes closed and barely breathing. Sam ran to the door, throwing it open and shaking Dean.

"Dean! Dean! Answer me! Dean!" Sam kept shaking him, trying to help him regain consciousness, "DEAN!" Turning his head he called over his shoulder, "SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE! Dean…"

Sam could hear someone talking on his or her phone but he paid no attention to it, his focus was taken completely by his brother. He had one hand on his neck, keeping track of his pulse, which was slowly growing slower by the second, "No, no, no, no, no. Don't you do this to me Dean. You can't do this to me. Don't you die, don't you dare. Dean.

DEAN!"

* * *

**A/N: Okay, just to clear something up. Zwarte Piet, each one, was able to influence the ****people in the town, that is why none of them were able to remember anything from before. **

**There was something else, but I can't remember right now. It might come up tomorrow if it was important or something.**


	25. A lone tree standing in the snow

**A/N: I do what I want and kill who I want.**

* * *

**5 years later…**

Sam stood before the tree, once a dead and broken, now lush and full of life. He was on the outskirts of Bethlehem, the memories that would never leave him running through his mind. Sam touched the scar on his forehead, a constant reminder of what he had saved and lost. He could never get rid of the guilt that filled his stomach no matter how much he told himself that it wasn't his fault. How could he have known? How could he have seen?

He laid down the small wreath that he brought with him, each one different year to year. This one was just simple, classic, a red bow on the top of an other wise plain circle of branches. Dean would have laughed at him, telling Sam that it was girly, but Sam didn't care. It was nice to cherish the memory of something that changed you forever. He couldn't believe that it had been only five years, but so much had changed. Sam went back to school, finishing his law degree, but that wasn't where his heart was anymore. He found a whole new layer to the world and that was what intrigued him now. It was a completely new way to help people that Sam couldn't refuse. That was what drew him to become a lawyer in the first place, but this is what made him truly happy. Helping the people fight against something that they couldn't have on their own.

He took the all the spare time he had to study everything and anything he could about the supernatural, filling the Impala with all different types of weapons, learning several different languages at one time. He almost lost his scholarship several times but that didn't stop him. Sam graduated with a degree but he walked out with a passion. He just hoped that was Dean had wanted.

It was painful for Sam to remember what happened on the side of the road that day. He could never let the blame fall off of himself, thinking that if only he had noticed sooner, if only he hadn't listened to his brothers lies that he was okay, if only.

Sam wiped a tear from his eye and walked back to the Impala, beginning his drive back to Lawrence. Sam checked his watch several times not wanting to be late. This was the final step in the only court case that he had ever taken and he didn't want to miss it for the life of him.

He drove up to the front of the state prison, parking right before the doors. Sam tapped the steering wheel as he waited, anxious to get out of there. It was a little unsettling to be sitting before the prison that your father was serving out a double life sentence in. Sam had been able to convict him under drug trafficking, money laundering and several counts of murder. There were many that he couldn't prove but the five that he could were more than enough. John was lucky that he didn't get convicted in a state that allowed lethal injection, some of his murders made the jury physically sick and some of them were teens.

Sam checked his watch one more time, the minute hand sliding past the six. He was late. Sam laughed at that, of course he would be late for his own release.

Sam perked up at the movement of the front doors, a smile crossing his face as he saw a man walk out of the doors. He had a faint limp, covered by years of physical therapy and a stubborn attitude. He had a leather coat on and a rucksack on his back, which carried all of his possessions in the world. He walked up to the driver's side, making a motion for Sam to get out of the seat. Sam opened the door and climbed out, hugging the man the instant he could.

"Geez Samantha. You miss me or something?" Dean pulled out his brother's grip, moving into the drivers seat himself.

Sam just moved to the passenger's side, his mood lightening instantly. Dean ran his right hand over the car's interior, pure love shinning out of him. "Hey Baby, did you miss me?"

Sam looked at his brother, a snarky smile on his face, "You two want a room?"

Dean started the engine, shooting a glance over his shoulder before pulling away from the doors, "Shut up Bitch."

Sam turned to the road, trying to make his voice sound far less happy than it was, "Jerk."

As they headed down the road, Jethro Tull blasting from the speakers Sam knew that this was what he was suppose to be doing.

Sam had taken Dean's case the instant that his brother told him that he was going to turn their father in. Sam was sitting in the hospital beside Dean's bed, his brother just waking moments before from his coma. Dean had suffered massive internal bleeding from the beating that he had taken; the doctors saying that he was lucky had even made it to the hospital. The CAT scans showed no damage to his brain something that Dean should have been thanking his lucky stars for. He had seven broken ribs, his wrist shattered and knee fractured. His liver was bruised and a few of his alveoli had ruptured causing his lung capacity to decrease. The doctors had to drain his chest cavity to bring the pressure down, pumping plasma into his system to bring his blood pressure up. Dean had lost a fourth of his blood, and all of that had been sitting in his chest, putting pressure on all of internal organs. Ten minutes more and Dean would have been dead.

Sam looked over to his brother, unable to help the smile that broadened on his face. Dean's knee never healed fully, giving him a bit of a limp whenever he over used it. His left hand was completely numb now; the bones that had shattered destroyed the nerves that ran through them. Dean said that it would come in handy but it had taken him a long time to get use to using the hand again. Once he was released from the hospital he went straight to the police station, turning himself and their father in. Dean was able to reduce his sentence to five year without bail, $50,000 after that sentence had been served. Sam had been able to raise the money on his own, taking the odd jobs that no one wanted to do, even hunting on his own just to stay fresh. He never took another court case, he couldn't find it in himself to stand before another judge.

"What are you smiling about?" Dean glanced at Sam before turning back to the road.

"Nothing. Just glad that this is finally over."

"Well now it's just you, me, a couple of monsters and the open road Sammy."

"It's Sam." Sam shot Dean a look of utter un-amusement; something that Dean would get use to in the years to come.

"Whatever Sammy."

* * *

**A/N 2: That's all Folks! If you have any questions, message me. So I can't remember what I was going to say ****yesterday so it wasn't that important...**

**Have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!**


End file.
